


Paradigm

by dysonrules



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: M/M, Rentboys
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-09-22
Updated: 2013-02-03
Packaged: 2017-11-14 19:58:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 13
Words: 57,445
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/518971
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dysonrules/pseuds/dysonrules
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harry Potter is an Auror and Draco Malfoy is a rentboy, but this is not a typical rentboy story.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Draco slouched against the wall, utilizing the dim glow from the streetlight to his best advantage. He knew his hair gleamed silver in the flickering light and his skin looked even paler than usual. He shifted his hips forward minutely when a small group of passersby approached, causing his shirt to ride up a bit and expose a large strip of flesh above the low-slung waistband of his tight black trousers. His shirt was barely that—a mere strip of fabric in white silk. It barely covered his ribs and hung from his shoulders to expose his collarbone. He held a Muggle cigarette between his fingers, but it was only for show. He would sooner suck the nether parts of a Blast-Ended Skrewt than put the burning piece of shit near his lips. A vile habit, but quite useful if you wanted to loiter without looking like you were loitering.

The group passed by, talking amongst themselves. They were a varied lot, both male and female, some loud and some not. One had a boisterous laugh, another had a thick Scottish brogue, and one looked like he wanted to hex them rather than spend one more moment in their presence. Without exception, their eyes turned to Draco as they walked by, some surreptitiously, some openly. He grinned at them and it was just shy of a leer.

Draco slid his fingers lazily over the waistband of his trousers, as though their tightness chafed and he could hardly wait to remove the offending fabric. The motion caused the footsteps of one chap to falter.

"Damn," the man said. "I left my favorite quill at the club."

"Oh, come on, Bernard. It's a quill. You've got dozens," a woman complained, turning when the man stopped just beyond Draco.

"It's my favorite, Lucy. You know how pesky hard it is to get them to write just right. I'll be along. You're going to The Plump Hen, right?"

The woman pouted. Draco thought she rather resembled a French poodle, all tight ringlets, trimmed nails, and artificial glamour. The man was little better. He seemed slightly less than middle-aged with a paunch starting to rise over his belt from too much food and too little exercise. His hair was dark, receding somewhat, and slicked back in a manner Draco had once favored. No more, though. Now Draco's hair hung over his forehead to occasionally tangle in his lashes, worn loose and flowing around his neck.

"Yes, damn you, and you'd better not be long or I'll toss you over for Reginald. See if I don't!" The woman turned and took the arm of a sticklike man, who bellowed a laugh and made a lewd comment. The fellow waved them on with good nature and soon the group rounded the corner and disappeared whilst Bernard backtracked towards Draco. Rather than passing, he paused.

"Waiting for someone?" the man asked.

"Waiting for you, maybe," Draco replied seductively.

Bernard drew in a breath and licked his lips slowly before he looked pointedly up and down the street. When he was satisfied that they were unobserved, he stepped closer.

"You up for a spot of fun, then?" Bernard asked. Draco's practiced eye raked the man from head to toe. Good suit, not ridiculously expensive, but not bad, either. The shoes were top shelf. Bernard's hair screamed conservative. _Ministry_ , Draco decided. He could spot them a mile away. A lesser official, though. Definitely not an Auror, thank Merlin. There was always something about their eyes that gave them away. No, this fellow was an underling with a desk job. Muggle Affairs or some other obscure division, probably.

"A spot of fun if the price is right," Draco said amiably and tossed the fag into the street as he straightened. He made sure to slouch a bit, however, as his height had been known to scare off a mark or two.

"Price," Bernard repeated. He sounded disappointed. Draco moved forwards and leaned slightly against the man. His lips skated over Bernard's jaw and parked near his ear. He reached up and drew circles with his long fingers over the man's fleshy abdomen as he whispered into his ear.

"Surely you don't think anything this hot is free," Draco said and chuckled. "Don't worry; it will be more than worth your while."

The man drew a shuddering breath. "How much?"

Draco smiled. It was easier than shooting babies in a barrel… or however that Muggle saying went. And it was so much more lucrative.

ooOooOooOoo

Harry fixed a steely gaze on the man across the table, who wiped the back of his hand across his forehead in an effort to diminish the sweat gathered there. Veritaserum had that effect, and the man had been nervous even before it was administered.

"Now, Bernard. Say we go over this once more," Harry said in an even tone. "We know you have been nicking funds from your department coffers for quite some time. We'll talk more about that later. What we are curious about now is your memory. You seem to be under a strange variation of a Memory Charm."

Bernard's eyes widened with surprise that did not seem feigned. "Memory Charm?" he asked.

"Are you admitting to knowing nothing about it?" Harry asked. He thought it was a stupid question, since the whole point of a Memory Charm was to keep one from remembering something, but people had been known to request Obliviation from others. It was prudent to ask.

"No! Of course not!"

"Have you noticed any gaps in your memory recently? Unexplained blocks of time that you can't account for?"

He gave Bernard a minute to cast back, seeking anomalies. When he shook his head, Harry felt like gnashing his teeth. Bloody hell, but this was turning into a time-consuming cock-up. What should have been a simple case of embezzlement followed by a speedy trial, possibly some jail time, and a hefty fine now needed to be handled with kid gloves. Not only was Bernard a well-respected Ministry official, he was also the nephew of the Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. She would have Harry's head in a vice if he "falsely accused" her precious nephew of a crime, unless the evidence was incontrovertible. The evidence itself was impeccable, but this Memory Charm business could be twisted by the defense until it smacked of possible magical coercion by an outside party. Which was, Harry admitted, entirely feasible. He simply felt in his gut that Bernard was guilty.

"All right, then," Harry said as he repressed a sigh. "I'm going to need a list of all the places you've been in the past month." That should be a long enough span of time to satisfy Bernard's solicitors. Any Memory Charm issued prior to that would have had little effect on Bernard's skimming tendencies.

"All… _all_ places?" Bernard asked in a sickly tone. Harry nodded curtly, wondering what Bernard had to hide that was worse than the embezzlement they had already uncovered. The man swallowed hard. "Um… this won't be made public, will it?"

Harry relaxed slightly. "Not unless it is pertinent to the case." Most likely the man had something else to conceal—a mistress, illegal purchases, drug use… things any prudent man would prefer not to disclose. Harry slid a piece of parchment and a quill across the table to Bernard, who sighed in defeat and started writing.

ooo

Harry had discovered Bernard's list to be rather tame. The man had a pretty boring life, actually. He spent most of his free time with the same group of friends, hanging out at a local pub and watching Quidditch on the new Wizardvision. He rarely made bets, drank little, and seemed quite conservative. Harry began to wonder why he had embezzled at all—Bernard did not seem to have expensive inclinations. He lived in a modest flat near the Ministry, bought nothing ostentatious, and had no bad habits. It was a conundrum. The only piece of the puzzle Harry had left to investigate drew him finally to a small street off the beaten path. Bernard had admitted to occasionally picking up a prostitute near a restaurant he and his friends frequented.

Harry had been unable to extract much information about the visits. Bernard had mentioned only that his prostitute of choice was blond with grey eyes. The man was extremely close-mouthed and absolutely refused to give Harry a name, stating only that the name was probably false and didn't matter. Harry could only assume Bernard hoped the prostitute would not be called upon and that his secret would remain hidden from his friends and family.

It was, however, Harry's job to leave no stone unturned. Therefore, he was stood in his invisibility cloak beneath a tiny awning in a persistent drizzle at 11pm on a Wednesday night. He shivered as the growing chill seeped through his clothing; he reflected that sometimes his job was not all it was cracked up to be. He would not trade it for the world, of course, but it made him feel better to complain, if only to himself.

Harry perked up when movement finally appeared across the street. Bernard had disclosed the location as that frequented by his blond paramour. He had not, however, mentioned that the blond in question was a _man_. Harry blinked a few times to make sure his eyes were not playing tricks on him, but the person slouched against the opposite wall was every inch a male. Bernard's close-mouthed silence suddenly made a lot more sense.

A small group of people left a nearby pub and headed down the narrow alley, approaching the waiting blond. The figure straightened slightly and arranged himself in a more seductive pose. There was something almost familiar about him, but Harry could not quite put a finger on it… He resolved to move closer and waited until the approaching footsteps muffled any sound he made crossing the street.

A woman stopped and made small talk with the blond as Harry quickly headed across the street. He had cast a Silencing Charm on his shoes, but it was always possible to slip on the wet pavement. He carefully ducked into a doorway and peered out to view his mark's profile. The man turned slightly to chat up the woman and only Harry's training kept him from gasping aloud in recognition.

_Draco Malfoy!_

For long moments, Harry's mind spun back through time, remembering the Slytherin in school. He had been an unmitigated bastard. After the war the Malfoy assets had been seized to make reparations and Draco and his mum had dropped out of the wizarding world completely. _Good riddance_ , Harry had thought at the time. Now, though… Had Malfoy been working as a rentboy all this time? How long had it been? Four years? Five?

He moved closer, hoping to hear the conversation between Malfoy and the girl, whose companions had paused and waited for her nearby, but it was over too quickly. She walked back to her cohorts and the group wandered down the street once more. Harry maintained his position near Malfoy and was rewarded a few minutes later when footsteps returned. Harry expected it to be the girl and was surprised to find it was one of her other friends. A bloke.

A brief price negotiation ensued, causing Harry's brows to rise. He had not known how lucrative a career in prostitution could be, but perhaps Malfoy was a special case. He half-feared they would Disapparate, but instead Malfoy tossed his cigarette butt, turned, and walked a short distance down a nearby alley. The man followed, as did Harry.

A tiny awning marked a doorway and Malfoy opened it and courteously held it aside for his companion. Harry scowled as the door shut and waited, hoping he could find them inside the building. After what he hoped was an appropriate amount of time, he turned the door handle and eased open the weathered door. It creaked only slightly and Harry ducked inside before shutting it quietly. A short hallway and a set of stairs met his gaze, but the murmur of voices led him to the steps.

He hurried up soundlessly, sticking close to the wall to minimize creaking from the wooden risers. He shrank back when he caught sight of two pairs of feet as his head neared the third storey landing. Malfoy unlocked a door with a few quick spells that Harry memorized. Two were standard Locking Spells, but one was a bit trickier and probably contained a Malfoy twist, likely with an attached Dark Arts curse.

Harry reached into a pocket for the pair of Extendable Ears he carried, but he had no idea of the layout of the room beyond—the ear could be detected the moment he slipped it beneath the door. Besides, it was really no mystery what Malfoy and his guest were up to, was it? Although it sort of was to Harry. He wasn't sure how two blokes would get it on. The more he thought about it, the warmer he became. To take his mind off of the idea, he seated himself on the floor across the hall and draped his cloak around himself.

It was a shorter wait than expected. Harry barely had time to acquire sore arse cheeks from the hard floor before the door opened and the two men appeared. Harry did not dare move, afraid the sound might give him away. He had positioned himself far enough away that they would not accidentally step on him when exiting.

"That was amazing," the man murmured, clutching Malfoy in an almost tender fashion. Harry saw the blond roll his eyes over the man's shoulder. "Can I see you again?"

"If you bring the Galleons, you can see me anytime," Malfoy purred and stroked one hand up the man's spine. He shivered like a cat and Harry's mouth went dry.

"I'll be back as soon as I can," the fellow promised. He pulled away and tried to kiss Malfoy, but the blond head tipped slightly and the man's lips pressed into one smooth cheek instead. He chuckled. "Sorry, I forgot."

"Forget again and you'll wish you hadn't," Malfoy warned. His tone was teasing, but there was enough iron beneath it that the man stepped back. He swallowed hard and then waved awkwardly before turning and ducking down the stairs. Malfoy sighed heavily and leaned against the doorframe for a moment. Harry felt a flare of unwelcome pity. Malfoy no longer looked like an arrogant prat. He looked tired and worn and dejected. Harry wondered how low the Malfoys had sunk for Draco to have taken up such a profession. It had to have been drastic to force him into selling himself to strangers.

Malfoy turned abruptly and went back inside, closing the door softly. Harry got to his feet and departed, vowing to check into the Malfoys. He had completely forgotten the case that had driven him to the alley to begin with.

ooo

The news was grim. Lucius was dead—of course Harry had not missed that newsworthy event several years back, although now he felt almost guilty for his feelings of satisfaction at the time. Lucius had been a complete prick, but he had still been a father that had seemed to care greatly for his son. Draco had probably taken his death hard.

Narcissa had dropped out of the social scene completely. The Ministry had swooped down on the Malfoy fortune even before Lucius's death—he had died in Azkaban, after all—and the remaining Malfoys had spent untold Galleons trying to keep their home and their possessions, to no avail. Harry remembered feeling another flare of approval when Narcissa and Draco had been booted from Malfoy Manor. _It served them right_ , he had thought.

The knowledge of where Draco had ended up made him nearly ill. Harry had not lifted a finger to stop the travesty of justice that had laid claim to the Malfoy fortune, and now a former schoolmate of his was selling himself to anyone with enough coin. Harry wondered what he would have done if the positions had been reversed. Would he stoop to prostitution?  
 _  
Of course not. I have friends. They would take me in and help me get on my feet._

As expected, the knowledge only made him feel worse. Malfoy's "friends" had likely abandoned him the moment the Galleons had disappeared. And where was Narcissa?

Several hours and a gigantic stack of papers disclosed no additional clues. It was as if Malfoy and his mother had vanished completely from the wizarding world until Harry had spotted Draco in the alleyway. There was no help for it; he would have to spy on Malfoy again and try to determine what had become of his mother. Harry did not examine his reasons for wanting to do so. _Because of the case_ was justification enough.  If Malfoy was involved with Bernard, he could easily have cast a Memory Charm.  To what purpose, Harry needed to find out.

Malfoy was in the same place the next night. Harry's invisibility cloak served him in good stead once more. This time Malfoy's client was a young woman, although it was difficult to tell through the thick robes she hid beneath. Obviously this one had no wish for her identity to be disclosed. Harry could tell it was a woman by the way she walked, however. A delicate saunter of her hips betrayed her as she walked beside Malfoy to his room. Harry thought about dashing ahead of them and hurrying inside, but the thought of observing Malfoy in action, as it were, made him feel slightly nauseous.

She returned surprisingly quickly. So much so that Harry felt their negotiations must have gone sour, but she did not seem displeased. She waved to Malfoy as he leaned against the doorframe and smiled at her retreating form. Perhaps they had made an assignation for another day. Malfoy did not return to the street, instead retreating back into his flat. After waiting a few minutes, Harry turned the doorknob and pushed the portal open a handsbreadth. When no warning sounded, he pushed it open further and slipped inside. Malfoy was not in sight, so he shut the door quickly, taking care that the latch did not click.

The place was small, but tastefully decorated, if rather austere. A highbacked sofa sat against one wall, flanked with small wooden tables. Two comfortable looking chairs faced the sofa with a tea table between them. A small kitchen area was visible, with a round table large enough to seat two tucked into a space near the door.

Harry started when a sound reached his ears, but he quickly recognized it as the shower. He hurried to an open doorway and peeked inside, but the bedroom was empty. A huge bed dominated the room, romantically lit with floating fairy lights in pale green, accenting the dark green coverings on the bed. _Slytherin to the end_ , Harry thought wryly.

Another door was open across from Harry and he walked quietly in that direction, driven by curiosity. What he saw froze him where he stood.

Malfoy was in the shower. Harry had expected a curtain, but the shower was enclosed in glass, giving him a full view of Malfoy's lean body as he stood beneath the spray.

_Merlin, Mordred, and Morgana_ , he thought in awe as he watched Malfoy soap his blond hair. Suds trailed in lazy rivulets over Malfoy's neck and shoulders, sliding across lean ribs and an incredible arse before oozing down Malfoy's long legs and joining the pool beneath his feet. Malfoy's arm muscles flexed languidly and he turned to face Harry for a moment before continuing the motion and tipping his head beneath the spray to rinse.

Harry stared at Malfoy's cock, fascinated by the pale curls and wondering how Malfoy would look fully erect. The thought made a delicious quiver ripple through his midsection. Bloody hell, no wonder people paid to have sex with him. He was fucking gorgeous. _Harry_ would pay to have sex with him. The thought made his heart nearly trip out of his chest for a moment—a moment too long, as it turned out, because Malfoy finished rinsing his hair and turned away to fumble for the controls.

Harry fled, thinking Malfoy meant to turn off the water, but the sound continued as Harry returned to the central room. He let out a breath in relief and then spied a tiny desk in one corner. He hurried over and found it locked and warded. Before he could swear, he noticed a letter on top addressed to Narcissa Malfoy.

Harry snatched it up and committed the address to memory just as the shower shut off. He replaced the letter, hurried to the door, and departed.


	2. Chapter 2

Narcissa Malfoy lived in a lovely cottage tucked away in a remote corner of Bath. The lane that led to her house was overgrown with gigantic trees that shaded the street and the immaculate pavement that lined the road. Each property bordering the lane was closed off from prying eyes by huge stone or brick fences crawling with ivy or wisteria. The residences might have been small, but the area itself would have been far from cheap. It was the sort of place that demanded full time gardeners and at least one maid for upkeep.

 _Either that or house-elves_ , Harry amended and realized he had no idea what had happened to the Malfoy house-elves when the property had been seized. Had they been freed?

Harry lurked outside the wrought-iron front gates and peered at the quaint white cottage set far back into the property amidst a riotous selection of flowers. He bit his lip for a moment and wondered what the hell he was doing. This had nothing to do with the case—this was curiosity bordering on stalking. Like dozens of times before in his life, he wanted to know what Draco Malfoy was up to. _It might have something to do with the case_ , he rationalized almost desperately. After all, Bernard had been a client of Malfoy's.

"Are you going to come in, Mr. Potter, or do you plan to pace before my gates all afternoon?" Harry jumped when the voice issued from what seemed to be a standard Muggle speaker box nestled into the brick gatepost.

"Um… yes, thank you," Harry said and mentally kicked himself. How the fuck was he going to explain this visit? He had not expected to go inside. The gates swung open soundlessly and Harry walked up the white gravel path to the front door, which also opened to admit him. Narcissa Malfoy sat on a velvet divan, looking as regal as ever in immaculate robes of aqua coloured silk. Her long, pale hair had been pulled into a jewelled comb atop her head. If any grey dared show there, Harry could not find it. She looked as beautiful as ever and her resemblance to Draco was obvious. His features could have been stamped from hers, but for the eyes. Draco had apparently inherited his expressive eyes from Lucius, for Narcissa's were shadowed and gave away nothing.

"Do sit down, Mr. Potter. To what do I owe this unexpected visit? Have I done something wrong?" She gasped suddenly and her blue eyes widened as Harry stepped forward nervously. "Has something happened to Draco?"

The panic in her voice was obvious and Harry hastened to reassure her. "No! No, he's fine! I'm… not really here in an official capacity."

She relaxed immediately and sank back into the cushions as Harry sat down opposite her on a plush settee. "Would you like something to drink?"

Harry shook his head. "No, thank you. Actually I would like to ask what you know about Memory Charms. Of the Darker variety." Inspiration had, thankfully, struck through his panic.

"Can you be more specific? I am quite certain they teach you how to Obliviate at the Ministry."

"Of course, but this one has even the Obliviators baffled. They cannot break it without severely damaging the subject's mind. It does not seem to be a case of simple memory erasure—the man has no time lapses or moments that he cannot account for. According to him, he's not missing any memories at all, but the Obliviators insist the signs of a Memory Charm are there."

She nodded. "The obvious drawback to utilizing a Memory Charm—the traces are identifiable to the highly trained. I believe it is the residue of the modifier's magical signature, especially if memories are implanted."

"Implanted? Is that possible?"

She rolled her eyes. "It quite astounds me the wealth of information that is kept from public knowledge simply because the Ministry is afraid it will be used for nefarious purposes. Pretending Dark Magic does not exist will not help you to counter it, you know."

"Sometimes knowledge of a spell doesn't help counter it, either. There is no counter curse for _Avada Kedavra_ , after all."

"There are always exceptions. But for most spells there are reversals or counter measures."

"Is there a counter measure for a Memory Modification Spell?"

She smiled, but there was no warmth in it. "I am no expert on Memory Charms, Mr. Potter. Do you think because I was married to someone well-versed in the Dark Arts that I have this knowledge at my fingertips?"

Harry flushed and pulled at his forelock before he could stop the nervous gesture. He dropped his hand. "No, of course not. I… I'm really not sure why I came, actually. I think I was mostly curious to see how you and Draco fared. Is he here?"

Narcissa's expression became positively glacial. "Not at the moment." Harry realized that with a casual question the reason behind his visit had become suspect. He had nearly forgotten how dangerous it was to deal with Slytherins. When he left, she would be tracking over every moment of their conversation, probably in a Pensieve. _Fuck_. Harry got to his feet.

"Thank you for seeing me, at any rate. I apologize for disturbing you."

"How did you find me, Mr. Potter? This address is not common knowledge; I value my privacy these days."

Harry smiled enigmatically, pleased that he had recovered enough aplomb to prevent a guilty flush from staining his cheeks. "I am a passable Auror, Mrs. Malfoy."

She laughed and the sound startled Harry. Narcissa had a genuinely beautiful laugh. It made him wonder what a real laugh from her son would sound like.

"Good day, Mr. Potter."

"Goodbye." With an awkward bow in her direction, Harry made his way out, leaving her alone in her expensively furnished cottage. He wondered if she ever left the place.

ooOooOooOoo

Draco towelled his hair and strolled into his tiny living room. He paused suddenly, catching a whiff of a strange scent in the air. _What the hell?_ He sniffed and tried to identify it. It was a slightly musky, masculine odour, barely detectable and almost tantalizingly familiar. He frowned. It could not have been left by his last client… her scent lingered, as well, an overindulgent lavender perfume. This was… something else.

Draco walked to the door and snatched it open, quite uncaring that he wore nothing but a green towel around his shoulders. Most of the people in the building knew what he did for a living and none of them cared. The hallway was empty, regardless, but Draco noted that his door was unlocked. Had he locked it when the girl left? Damn. He couldn't remember. He shut it and fetched his wand before casting a Locking Spell and looking around the room carefully. Had someone been here? Nothing looked out of place.

He made a quick circuit of the room, shrugged, and went to dress. Visits to his mother always required special care.

Draco Apparated directly to her garden. She spent most of her time there these days, weather permitting. True to form, she was pruning the peach-tinted roses with her wand. Draco had hired a gardener to maintain the lawn and the plants, but she insisted on caring for the roses herself.

"Hello, Mother," he said and walked forward to kiss her on the cheek. She slid her arm around his waist and pulled him close for a brief hug before turning back to her flowers.

"Hello, darling. Are you staying for dinner this evening or just popping in for a brief visit?" The words were innocuous, but Draco picked up on the reprimand beneath them.

"I would stay longer if I could, Mother," he said dryly. "You know I have to work, now."

Her lips set in a grim line and he bristled, expecting another tirade against the bloody Ministry and their greedy, underhanded snatching of the Malfoy fortune. Surprisingly, she said nothing of the sort.

"Your friend Harry Potter stopped by earlier today."

Draco blinked at her, uncertain that he had heard her correctly. _Friend? Potter?_

"Harry Potter?" he repeated stupidly.

"He asked about you."

Draco felt a cold mask slip over his features. What the fuck did the Super Auror want now? Had he not done enough damage to Draco's life? Potter and the Merlin-fucked Ministry he worked for? "How did he find this address?"

"I assumed you had told him."

Draco glared. "I haven't seen the prat in years! What did he want?"

"He asked me about Memory Charms, of all things."

Draco's blood froze and his brows shot upwards. He barely stopped himself from blurting a panicked question and schooled his features into impartiality, aware that his mother watched him closely. He managed a normal tone of voice. "Why?"

She shrugged and snipped another rose to add to the basketful at her feet. "Something to do with a case, apparently. He asked specifically about Memory Modification Charms."

"What did you tell him?"

She looked at him sharply. "I have no intention of helping Harry Potter and his Ministry with anything, Draco. You, of all people, should know that. I am curious, however, as to why he sought me out. You are certain you have not seen him in years?"

"Positive. I have not even bumped into him on accident. We no longer travel in the same circles." Draco kept the bitterness out of his voice, although his heart clenched at the unfairness. Potter was now the one attending high class social functions while Draco lurked in the shadows and whored himself out for every precious coin.

"Do you have anything to do with this case of his?"

 _Fuck. Memory Modification Charms._ It was more than likely _._ "Not that I am aware of," he said truthfully.

His mother made a humming noise, but said nothing other than, "You did not answer my question, earlier."

"Yes, I'll stay for dinner." His regular client was not scheduled until later in the evening. Draco should have enough time to make it home and prepare, as long as his mother did not insist on dragging out dessert.

Years of habit allowed him to carry on a conversation with his mother as they ate, but his mind was occupied with thoughts of Harry Potter. He had not even thought of the Auror in years. Bloody hell, if Potter was sniffing around now, it might be time for Draco to pull up stakes and find a different location for his activities. Better that than have Potter put a crimp in Draco's business. He needed the money. _Fucking Potter._

_ooOooOooOoo  
_

Harry staked out Malfoy's location until the wee hours of the morning with no sign of him. Harry even ventured into the hallway and listened at the door, but apparently Malfoy had gone out for the evening. Harry gnawed his lip and worried that his visit to Narcissa had tipped off Malfoy to Harry's presence. Still, he could not have guessed that Harry would be watching from the cover of his invisibility cloak, could he?

Frustrated, Harry finally went home and crawled into bed trying not to think of the blond naked, angry, and writhing beneath him. He hissed and tossed himself off, wondering if Malfoy had cast a spell on him. It seemed he could think of nothing else after seeing him in the shower.

Harry had better luck the next night. Malfoy was in his usual spot and Harry felt an almost crushing sense of relief. He had feared Malfoy would flee, forcing Harry to track him. Bloody hell, Malfoy was dressed like… well, like a high-priced rentboy. He wore low-cut trousers that nearly exposed his pubic hair and a pale shirt that revealed a substantial amount of flat abdomen and smooth chest. Harry's cock rose at the sight and he cursed himself for letting Malfoy affect him so easily. He watched as Malfoy lit a cigarette and then let it burn itself slowly out. Clients seemed to be slim pickings. Several groups walked by but no one stopped, even though Malfoy drew several interested glances.

Malfoy flipped the cigarette to the pavement and trod on it as he levered himself away from his pose against the wall. Harry felt something constrict as he realized Malfoy might be calling it a night. Giving in to a sudden impulse, Harry shrugged off his invisibility cloak and stashed it behind a nearby rubbish heap.

Resolutely, he marched across the street and straight up to Malfoy, who watched him approach expressionlessly.

"Potter. What a delightful surprise." The drawl was sarcastically familiar.

"You don't seem all that surprised," Harry replied.

A noncommittal grunt was Malfoy's response. His shoulders rose and fell, drawing Harry's attention to the pale skin of Malfoy's chest. His shirt was held together at the throat with a small grouping of silver links. A swell of lust rocked Harry, causing him to grit his teeth.

"How much for the evening, Malfoy?" Harry asked conversationally.

A huge grin split Malfoy's lips. "You can't be serious."

"What if I am?"

Malfoy laughed, but it was not the beautiful sound Harry had longed to hear. Instead it was the same cold, bitter laugh he had heard dozens of times. "Fuck you, Potter. I'll be damned if I accept an offer from you only to be hauled off to your precious Ministry. Haven't you taken enough from me? Why don't you just bugger off?"

"I won't arrest you."

Malfoy pushed past him, but Harry grabbed his arm and whirled him around.

"I'm serious, Malfoy." His voice was rough with need and Harry inwardly cringed to hear it.

"Fuck you, Potter! You expect me to believe the Holy Savior of the Wizarding World is interested in a gay rendezvous with a former Death Eater? How stupid do you think I am? Do you plan to Obliviate me afterward to keep me from running to the papers with that ugly little story?"

Harry's jaw set. "I think you might be the expert on Obliviation, Malfoy."

Malfoy's grey eyes flashed, although the colour was impossible to see in the darkness. Malfoy's lips twisted into a snarl. "The truth comes out. Mother told me of your little visit, Potter. What the fuck do you really want?"

What Harry really wanted would be more than obvious if he leaned into Malfoy just a bit more. He stepped closer, wanting, but not quite willing, to betray his desire. He raised a hand and splayed it over Malfoy's breastbone. He was startled at how cold Malfoy's skin felt—an obvious drawback of being scantily clad on cool nights. Malfoy's face drew closer to Harry's and he held his breath as Malfoy's lips neared his neck. Disappointment flickered when he felt nothing except a ghosting of air over his skin before Malfoy drew back.

"How long have you been stalking me, Potter?"

"What?"

"You've been in my flat." It was not a question.

"Once," Harry admitted. Malfoy shoved him away, hard, and then his fist flew out and slammed into Harry's jaw, knocking him on his arse.

"Stay the fuck away from me!" Malfoy's voice was thick with hatred. He spun on a heel and fled.

"That went well," Harry muttered as he got to his feet and massaged his aching jaw.

ooOooOooOoo

Draco paced his flat in agitation. _Fucking Potter!_ He rubbed his raw knuckles and grimaced at the memory of slamming them into the bastard's jaw. He should have broken Potter's nose instead—it could have become his signature. Draco's eyes scanned his flat nervously. Potter had been here. Draco now recognized Potter's cologne as the elusive scent. What had he been searching for? Obviously he had discovered Mother's address and gone to question her. Memory Charms. _Fuck and double fuck._

Draco threw himself into a chair and pulled out his wand nervously. He triple checked the locks on the door and then buried his face in his hands, fearing he might completely and utterly fall apart. He had known the Ministry might get involved, eventually. It was nearly a guarantee in his line of work and it was possible he had got careless. He had half-expected the Ministry, but not Potter. Never Potter.

 _How much for the evening, Malfoy?_ Draco drew a shaking hand across his brow. Bloody hell, the prat could not have been serious!

Draco ventured out an hour later, assuming Potter to have fled with his tail between his legs. To Draco's horror, the idiot was still there, leaning against the wall in Draco's usual spot. He ground his teeth and wondered if a permanent hex would rid him of the Auror, but he would most likely just deflect it and laugh at Draco for the attempt.

"What's the quickest way to be rid of you, Potter? Besides _Avada Kedavra_ and believe me that is tempting."

"You know the answer to that, Malfoy," Potter said in a teasing tone.

Draco glared and thought about giving him a matching bruise on the other side of his jaw.

"I already gave you my answer. Will you please leave?" Draco tacked on the _please_ to appeal to Potter's Gryffindor sensibility, but apparently Potter had misplaced it.

"I know that Bernard Carversham is a client of yours. I also know that he pays you one hundred Galleons per session, which I found to be outrageous."

Draco leaned against the wall next to Potter. His thoughts whirled. Bernard Carversham. One of Draco's regulars. The man had become rather obsessed and met with him at least once a week, usually more. Draco realized he had not seen poor Bernard for some time.

"Bernard, eh? What happened to him? I thought he was one of your Ministry clowns."

"Not mine. He's in a spot of trouble," Potter said noncommittally. Draco nodded, suddenly piecing together Potter's sudden resurgence in his life. Bernard had talked. He reached into his pocket and shook out a Muggle cigarette before lighting it with the tip of his wand and taking a single puff. Although he detested the filthy habit, it had opened conversations more than once. He hoped the smoke would drive Potter away.

"Pity. He always paid," Draco said.

"I'll double his price," Potter offered.

Thankfully Draco was not puffing on his cigarette or he might have choked. "You are an imbecile."

He pushed away from the wall and Disapparated. He spent the rest of the evening in a dimly lit London club where he finally succumbed to the advances of a persistent auburn-haired witch and accompanying her back to her house. She bore an unpleasant resemblance to Ginny Weasley, so Draco charged her double. He allowed her to make him breakfast the next morning, and then Apparated directly back to his flat, where he decided to spend the rest of the day looking for a new residence.

ooo

Potter was ridiculously persistent. "Five hundred Galleons."

"What do you really want, Potter? If you want to know about Bernard Carversham, perhaps you should just ask."

"Did you use a Memory Charm on Bernard?"

"Did he tell you I was the best fuck of his life?"

"Eventually, yes."

"Then why would I need to Memory Charm him?"

"Perhaps he was getting too chummy. Maybe he wanted a _relationship_."

Draco snorted. "Are you accusing him of stalking? Is that not rather pot/kettle?"

Potter looked away. "I'll give you seven hundred Galleons."

"For one hour?" Draco was amused.

"For one night."

"Go away, Potter." He had stopped looking for a new flat. Other than the Auror's never-ending presence outside his flat scaring away potential customers, Potter had basically left him alone. Draco was curious to see how far Potter would go with his increasingly ridiculous offers.

ooOooOooOoo

Harry began to hate himself more than he had ever hated Draco Malfoy. His wayward desire had grown into a full-blown mania. The foolish impulse to buy Malfoy for one night had turned into more than want. It was now a craving, an obsession, a ludicrous, mindless fascination. He could think of little else. He needed to own Malfoy. He was for sale to everyone but Harry and it was driving him fucking wild.

He no longer cared about Bernard Carversham, or the case, or the bloody Memory Charms. He merely used them as an excuse to get close to Malfoy, who acted like his offers were the most ridiculous things he had ever heard.

Finally Harry's resolve snapped.

"I'll give you five thousand Galleons for one night."


	3. Chapter 3

Potter was insane.

It was the only explanation. _Five thousand Galleons_! That would pay Draco's expenses for a year. He would be an absolute fool to turn it down and Potter knew it. Draco set his jaw angrily. _Fuck._

"All right, Potter. Tomorrow night. I expect dinner first, so I will meet you here and you will escort me to a place of my choosing. Try not to dress like an idiot. Or an Auror ."

Potter nodded soberly.

ooo

Draco spent most of the day cursing Potter and his overwhelming stupidity. _Five thousand Galleons._ What the hell was he thinking? If Potter's intent was nothing more than an elaborate setup, Draco would at least make him jump through every hoop imaginable. He planned to extract his pound of flesh from Potter before the hammer fell.

He met Potter at the designated spot and was reluctantly impressed to find Potter dressed in well-tailored robes of soft-looking cream. The collar stood up stiffly and made Potter's hair look blacker than midnight. He offered Draco his arm with a sheepish grin. Draco wanted to gnaw his lip with nervousness, but he merely took Potter's arm and Apparated them to a very expensive restaurant in wizarding Dover. Potter had combed his hair well over the famous scar, likely hoping to hide it and remain anonymous. Draco was willing to play along—outwardly.

They ordered dinner and Potter tried to make small talk. Now that he had made the inevitable decision to sleep with Potter, Draco found himself evaluating him with new eyes. Potter was almost ridiculously fit. Even with his stupid hair and his stupid scar and his stupid ability to make Draco feel like a blight on the face of the earth, Potter's smile was very nice and lit up like a _Lumos_ across the table. _Why shouldn't he be happy?_ Draco thought sardonically. _He finally got his way, as usual. The hero wins._ Once again he had bested Draco, although this time it was with cold, hard cash and a ludicrous amount of persistence.

The meal was exquisite, but Draco could manage no more than a few bites. He was hellishly nervous and the terror grew exponentially with every moment. His hour of reckoning was at hand. He pushed his plate away, despite the knowledge that dragging out the meal would prolong his impending execution.

"Are you all right?" Potter asked, sounding genuinely concerned.

Draco nodded and gulped his wine to fight nausea. He would get through this. Somehow. Potter bit his lip and looked worried as he studied Draco's face. Draco stared at him and found the expression strangely enchanting. Even though he expected Potter's offer to be part of an elaborate scheme, he did not think Potter had enough acting skill to pull off his current attitude.

"Do you want to… go for a walk or something? Get some fresh air?" Potter offered.

Draco felt almost ridiculously grateful and he scowled to cover it as he shoved his chair back. "Whatever you want, Potter. I'll be outside."

Draco did not wait, but fled for the street where he leaned against the wall and drank in deep breaths of the cool night air. It was beginning to rain. Potter appeared after paying the bill and he seemed almost surprised to see Draco waiting. Potter cast a quick Umbrella Charm and motioned for Draco to precede him. Draco walked down the damp street and Potter fell into step beside him.

"You seem different than usual," Potter noted aloud.

Draco attempted a smirk and failed miserably. "How so, Potter?"

"I don't know. I've seen you with your other clients and you are always so polished and confident. Tonight you seem… out of sorts. Is it because you're with me?"

Draco rolled his eyes. "Of course it's because I'm with you, Potter. With my other clients there are no hidden agendas. I know exactly what they want and I give it to them. I have no idea what you want."

"I want the same thing they want, Malfoy. How can I convince you of that?"

Draco shook his head and then Potter grabbed his arm to halt him before pushing him against the wall, but gently. Potter leaned in and his face loomed closer. _Oh Merlin, he means to kiss me_ , Draco thought with a frisson of panic. He turned his head at the last moment and Potter's lips grazed his cheek.

Draco hissed. "No kissing, Potter. Don't you know anything about whores?"

Potter did not pause, but allowed his lips to travel over Draco's jaw to his ear.

"All right. No kissing on the lips," Potter said. "But everywhere else is fair game, right ?" Draco felt soft kisses pressed into his throat. Potter's hands slid over his chest and ribs before clenching in the material of Draco's shirt. "Bloody hell, I want you so much."

Draco found it hard to breathe. He tried to dredge up his rentboy personae, but it was difficult to concentrate with his pulse racing.

"Do you prefer your place or mine?" Potter asked, moving closer, trapping Draco against the wall with his body and giving him no doubt whatsoever that he was aroused.

"Yours," Draco decided impulsively. "You know where I live. Apparently you have been inside." He could not resist the dig at Potter's less than ethical behaviour, although he supposed Potter was not particularly concerned about his virtue if he was willing to seek out and hire Draco for a one-off.

Potter's lips halted on Draco's neck, but he recovered quickly. "Fair enough."

Before Draco could suggest a different course of action, he felt the lurch of Apparition and staggered slightly when the wall no longer supported his back. Potter's arms slid around him and held him up. Draco felt a new sort of panic as he looked around and took in Potter's domain. It suddenly seemed like a grave error to put himself in the lion's den where everything was unfamiliar. Draco's need for control began to scream like a banshee. Potter's lips fastened onto Draco's neck once more and his hands moved over him possessively.

"You feel so good, so incredibly good. Merlin, I want you to suck me off ," Potter said huskily.

Draco was nearly paralyzed for a moment. _Suck him off?_ Potter drew back and looked at him quizzically, probably wondering why Draco had stopped breathing .

"Malfoy?"

Draco shook off his stasis and tried to get a grip on himself. He needed to regain his wits or he might as well Apparate straight to Azkaban and ask them to lock him up.

"All right, Potter," he said and swallowed hard. He forced his hands to move and they crawled as slowly as possible over the soft cream-coloured robes and down to Potter's waistband. He tugged on the metal buckle and listened to the clicks as each circle slipped across the silver bar. Potter's breathing sounded ragged in Draco's ear and his hands stilled on Draco's shoulders. Draco loosened the belt completely and then waited as long as he dared before moving his fingers to the buttons that would free Potter's hard length from its confinement.

The buttons were stubborn, forcing Draco to finesse them though the holes while his knuckles dragged over Potter's erection, earning a gasp for every touch. Draco hoped Potter would come without the necessity of doing what he requested. When the trousers were fully unfastened, Draco loosened them and allowed them to fall. They slid to Potter's knees with a whisper of sound.

Draco dared not look at Potter's face—or anything else. He kept his eyes closed and his mind fixed on the task at hand, holding his breath as he tucked two fingers into the waistband of Potter's pants. He pulled the material out and then pushed it down, freeing Potter's erection before he reluctantly opened his eyes. Draco's gaze fixated on it immediately and his eyes widened as he took in Potter's glory. Bloody hell, did the bastard have to be better at everything? It was totally fucking unfair.

Potter's cock was perfection. It was smooth and straight and beautiful, possibly longer and definitely thicker than Draco's. It seemed suddenly enormous, considering what Potter wanted him to do.

"Is something wrong?" Potter asked, snapping Draco's gaze upward. He met Potter's eyes without thinking and was surprised at the expression on Potter's face. It was uncertain and almost nervous, and so foreign to Draco's experience of Potter that he soaked it in for a moment in bemusement. _Potter_ was nervous? He felt the fingers tighten on his shoulders and forced a smile.

"No, Potter. Nothing is wrong." For some reason, seeing Potter less than confident steadied him somewhat. Without thinking too hard about the action, Draco slowly lowered himself to his knees. _Salazar help me_ , he thought fervently as he opened his mouth and tasted Potter's cock. The moan that issued from Potter's throat helped. Draco moved his lips lower, taking the length of Potter as deeply as he could manage—which wasn't far before his gag reflex kicked in.

He pulled back abruptly and accidentally dragged his teeth over Potter's cock with the movement .

"Fuck, Malfoy!" Potter cried and his hand jerked in Draco's hair.

"Sorry," Draco said and flushed scarlet. He felt completely out of his element. If he could not get a grip on himself and pass himself off as an experienced professional, the game was up. The last thing he needed was Potter finding out he had been Obliviating his clients and casting Memory Charms to make them think they'd had the best sex of their lives. In truth, Draco had never had sex with any of them. He received endless enjoyment from the knowledge that he was a virgin, despite thousands of Galleons in his account testifying to the contrary. He had been tempted a few times, but feared the complication of becoming involved with one of his clients in that way. What if he enjoyed it? Or worse, what if he became emotionally invested, or even more foolishly, _fell in love_?

Now, however, his lack of actual experience could be his undoing.

"Maybe it's not the best idea to tempt you into unmanning me," Potter murmured and tugged Draco to his feet by judiciously pulling his hair. Draco winced. "Let's go to the bedroom."

Draco's moment of relief at the cessation of the blow job turned into a block of lead in the pit of his stomach. Bedroom. His virginity was about to be sacrificed, one way or another, to Harry Potter. The irony was not lost on him.

Potter toed off his shoes and left his trouser's and pants in a heap on the floor. His hand looped over Draco's and pulled him down a short hallway to a predominantly burgundy bedroom. It was not quite Gryffindor red, but doubtless comforted Potter with the similarity. The lights, which had come on automatically, were too bright. Potter dimmed them with a word and then turned to Draco.

"How do you normally do this?" Potter asked, sounding somewhat uncertain. "Do you undress or should I…?"

"Whatever you prefer, Potter. It's your Knut ." Draco was gratified to find that his voice was steady, giving no sign that Potter's words had shaken him.

"Then I… I want to do it," Potter said. Draco felt a flash of relief. He was afraid his hands would shake obscenely if he tried to unfasten his clothing.

Potter turned towards him and Draco tried not to notice the way Potter's perfect cock jutted from beneath the still-buttoned, pale robes. Potter's hands reached up to Draco's collar and began to push the tiny black buttons through the holes. There were quite a lot of them and Draco was surprised to find his nervousness turning into impatience. Even so, Potter maintained his slow pace until Draco's robes gaped open and then he slid them gently over Draco's shoulders. He expected Potter to allow them to drop to the floor, but Potter lifted them away and folded them carefully before placing them on one corner of the bed.

He turned back to Draco and smiled ruefully before starting on the lacing that held Draco's shirt together. "It's sort of like unwrapping a present, isn't it?" Potter murmured .

Draco wished he could think of a witty comeback, but his mental faculties seemed to have locked up the minute his focus had narrowed to Potter's long fingers.

ooOooOooOoo

Harry waited for Malfoy to speak, but for once he had nothing to say. In fact, Malfoy had been oddly out of character all evening. He seemed nervous to the point of terror. At first Harry had thought it to be an act, but now he was not so certain. He tugged the shirt gently over Malfoy's head, slowly revealing his perfect abdomen, smooth chest, and long, muscular arms. The silk turned Malfoy's platinum hair into a halo of static and Harry smiled as he folded the shirt and placed it atop Malfoy's robes. He reached up to smooth down the erratic strands and met Malfoy's eyes for a moment. They reminded him of the huge, terrified eyes of a wild creature. Why was he so nervous? Certainly he had done this dozens, probably hundreds, of times? Was Malfoy really expecting Harry to spring some elaborate trap?

He put his hands on Malfoy's shoulders and allowed his thumbs to trace over the hollows between chest and shoulder muscles before sweeping over the frail-seeming collarbones. Harry's fingers curved around the back of Malfoy's neck and his thumbs caressed the line of his throat before moving over the straight jaw line. Fuck, but he was beautiful. The mere act of touching him was better than any of the fantasies Harry's fevered mind had concocted recently. He wished he could kiss the lips that were currently stretched into a thin line. Instead he leaned in and pressed a kiss on the tip of Malfoy's nose.

"Don't," Malfoy breathed and Harry pulled back to find the grey eyes shuttered. A flush was faintly visible, covering Malfoy's cheeks. Harry was glad he had only dimmed the lights and not dispelled them completely. He wanted to watch every nuance of expression on Malfoy's face.

"You said kissing was permitted everywhere but your lips," Harry replied quietly.

A scowl wrinkled Malfoy's brow and Harry was almost relieved at the return of a more familiar expression. The quiet Malfoy had been making him somewhat nervous. Malfoy huffed a breath that wafted over Harry's face in a flutter of warmth that made him want to lean forward and taste the flavours hinted at by the scent—spice and wine and something richer. He wondered how much Malfoy would charge for a kiss.

"Fine, Potter. If you must indulge your odd kinks…"

"Nose-kissing is hardly a kink. Besides, you have a very kissable nose." He placed another on the tip and then followed the bridge of Malfoy's nose up to the crease that had formed between his grey eyes. Harry kissed Malfoy's patrician brow and stopped at one temple to feel Malfoy's heartbeat thudding against his lips. It was slower than Harry had expected, given Malfoy's apparent nervousness.

His hands left Malfoy's neck and slid down over his pale chest, pausing briefly to circle Malfoy's nipples with his thumbs. They were hard nubs, probably due more to the chill of the room than excitement. Malfoy's skin already felt cool to the touch. Harry suspected he wanted nothing more than for Harry to finish so that he could escape, but Harry had no intention of rushing. For the price he had paid, he intended to take his bloody sweet time and savour every moment.

He moved his hands lower, amazed at the hard, flat plane of Malfoy's abdomen. He wondered how Malfoy kept so fit given his current occupation. The question was irrelevant; nothing mattered at the moment except the feel of Malfoy beneath his hands. Harry's fingers tucked into the waistband of Malfoy's trousers—a tight fit, but worth the pinch as he pulled Malfoy's pelvis against him. Harry's erection pressed into Malfoy's groin and he drew in a breath when he realized Malfoy was not at all aroused. _Shit_. He supposed he should not have been surprised, considering how strangely nervous Malfoy had been acting, but it was a bit disappointing. He had hoped the blond would feel _something_ in response to Harry's obvious desire.

He quelled his disappointment with a surge of determination. He quickly unfastened Malfoy's trousers and pushed them down. His hands followed the material all the way down Malfoy's long legs and held them open while Malfoy removed his feet. Harry kept his eyes fixed on his task until he straightened and folded the trousers to place them with the rest of Malfoy's clothes. He did the same with the dark pants and only then allowed himself to look at Malfoy. His gaze travelled from the slender feet up over calves and thighs until they stopped where the blond curls cradled Malfoy's nice—very nice—cock. Harry tore at the buttons of his own clothing, suddenly impatient. He did not quite dare to meet Malfoy's eyes, uncertain what expression he would find there. Embarrassment? Disdain?

Harry finished ripping at his shirt buttons and yanked the material over his head before tossing it haphazardly aside. He risked a glance at Malfoy's face and saw nothing there; his visage might have been carved from marble. Harry sighed. At least there was no sneer. He moved forward again and slowly dropped to his knees in front of Malfoy. Without considering his actions for more than a moment, he pressed his lips fully against Malfoy's cock. _Thank Merlin,_ he thought when he felt it twitch beneath his lips—it felt like satin. He opened his mouth to flick the tip of his tongue over the soft flesh while his hands rose to touch the underside. His fingertips moved over the vein that stretched and grew into a hard ridge as Malfoy's length thickened and rose.

Harry risked a glance upwards and swallowed hard at the sight of Malfoy's transfixed stare. Unacknowledged tension loosened its tight grip somewhere in Harry's gut and he relaxed slightly. _That_ was the reaction he had been hoping for. He nearly gasped as the pads of Malfoy's ice-cold fingers touched his shoulder—to steady him? Encouraged, Harry moved to take Malfoy's hardness completely into his mouth while keeping his eyes locked on the dark slashes of Malfoy's eyes. Merlin, Harry had never imagined sucking another man's cock would be so thrilling. Then again, Malfoy was not simply "another man"; he had been Harry's obsession long before fascination had turned into lust.

He turned his attention to the task at hand, suddenly determined to make Malfoy forget everyone that had come before. Harry wanted to wipe out the memory of every other man—and woman—who had dared to touch Draco Malfoy. Harry closed his eyes and took Malfoy as deeply as he could bear, earning a soft cry for his effort and the minute tightening of fingers on his shoulder. _Yes, like that_ , he thought . _Fuck_ , the feel of Malfoy's curls against his face and the scent of soap, cologne, and something heady and distinctly Malfoy—it was brilliant. Harry sucked eagerly and longed to touch his own dripping cock, but the night was young. He kept his hands on Malfoy, fondling the taut testicles and touching every bit of skin within reach. _Mine_ , he thought suddenly. _At least for tonight, you're all mine_.

ooOooOooOoo

Draco stared when Potter dropped to his knees. He barely suppressed a cry of shock when warm lips touched his previously-uninterested cock. _Bloody fucking hell_! A yearning surge shuddered through him and he felt his prick stir with sudden interest as Potter's tongue trailed over the top while warm fingers explored the underside.

Potter's emerald eyes rose suddenly and locked with his. It was difficult to breathe as a sense of unreality assailed him. Harry Potter, the Chosen One, the Savior of the Wizarding World, the Vanquisher of Voldemort, was _sucking his cock_. Draco's knees threatened to give way, so he put out a hand to steady himself. His fingertips pressed into Potter's shoulder as lightly as possible. It was like touching a hot cauldron; Potter was a bloody furnace.

Potter finally looked away, breaking the intense gaze, and Draco thankfully closed his eyes. The heat of Potter's mouth took him in completely and Draco bit down on a moan. A soft cry escaped and it seemed to inflame Potter, who redoubled his efforts. Draco had no idea if Potter was experienced or not—all he knew was that it felt incredible. He gave up coherent thought in favour of savouring every flick of Potter's tongue and every brush of his fingers. It was hot and wet and utterly delightful. _Merlin_ , surely Potter would stop soon? He would stop and laugh and Draco would have to _Crucio_ him.

But Potter did not stop. Draco's fingers twined in Potter's thick black hair, urging him on, but taking care not to distract him by tugging. Potter's hair was surprisingly soft considering it looked like a home for sparrows most of the time. He barely had time to register the random thought before Potter's brilliant mouth eradicated coherency. Oh Merlin, he was going to… _oh yes, yes, fuck, he was_ …

Draco nearly bit through his bottom lip to suppress a shout as he came explosively—straight down the throat of the Ministry's Paragon of Virtue. Shudders careened through him, seeming to go on forever. Potter's mouth stayed fixed in place until Draco thought he might collapse from the aftermath of such a spectacular release, and then Potter pulled away to plant a kiss against Draco's abdomen. It was a strangely tender gesture and it disturbed Draco more than it should have. His fingers were wrapped tightly in Potter's thick hair and he noted Potter's arms twined around his hips, holding him tightly. Potter's cheek rested over Draco's navel and he said, "I think I need a thicker carpet."

Draco stared down at him and Potter glanced up with a grin. His lips were red and his green eyes seemed ridiculously bright, probably because he had shed his spectacles somewhere along the way. He looked strange without them, but far more handsome than Draco would have expected. He decided he was merely feeling euphoric after the sterling blow job.

"You do this often enough to warrant a new carpet ?" Draco asked dryly and then thought about cutting out his own tongue. What did he care if Potter gave out blowjobs seven days a week?

"No, but I might consider taking it up as a hobby," Potter replied.

A flare of something—not jealousy—flashed through Draco and he scowled. "I'm sure the recipients of your talent will be more than pleased." He shut his eyes tightly after issuing the bitter-sounding statement. _Note for future reference: do not speak after orgasm. At. All. Ever._ He detached his hands from Potter's hair with effort. The strands seemed to want to keep him in place.

"Only one recipient," Potter said as he got to his feet. "For as long I can afford you."

Draco ignored that, but he could not suppress the flush that crept into his cheeks. He could only hope it was lost in the colour already present from their activities. Potter tugged at his hand, drawing him towards the bed. Draco felt almost languid enough that the movement did not panic him. Almost.

He allowed Potter to ease him onto the bed after dragging back the thick blankets. The sheets were cold against Draco's heated skin and he shivered slightly. Potter noticed and crawled over him to lay his molten form over Draco like a Warming Charm. Potter's erection dug into his groin, but it was not unpleasant. Hot lips nibbled at Draco's neck until he thought he might bear the mark forever.

"Don't mar the merchandise, Potter," Draco muttered and then gasped when teeth replaced the soft lips and bit down gently. The bite loosened before it became painful.

"All right, Malfoy," Potter said and kissed the tender spot gently. His lips moved as he muttered a spell and then Draco felt cold wetness encircle his nether opening, assisted by Potter's fingers. His tension returned like a slap in the face. "Hey," Potter murmured in a soothing tone. "Hey, it's okay, I won't hurt you. I promise. Um… you can top if you prefer."

 _Fuck_. Yes, of course he would _prefer_ , but he sure as hell could not admit that fact to Potter. For all he knew, Potter might have been shagged a thousand times. Draco knew it was far better to lie back and take it than expose his dreadful lack of experience. He swallowed and forced himself to relax.

"It's fine, Potter. Your Knut, remember?"

Potter scowled and his lips drew into a thin line. "Yes, I remember." With that, Potter inserted a finger—none too gently. Draco could not suppress a gasp.

"Salazar, perhaps you should withhold your promises, Potter!"

"Shit. I'm sorry. I thought you would be…"

 _Used to it?_ Draco's lip curled sardonically, but he nodded. "I normally top, so it's been some time," he said lamely.

"I'll be more careful," Potter said.

Draco called upon every iota of self-control he had ever possessed. Luckily, there were many years of memories to call upon. Not surprisingly, sitting through an agonizing meal with a room full of Death Eaters and Lord Voldemort had been excellent preparation for remaining still under anal penetration by the Vanquisher of said Dark Lord. It was painful and terrifying and altogether too intense for comfort.

Only when Potter was fully sheathed did Draco realize he was shaking nearly as badly. Sweat covered them both and Draco almost laughed, wondering if it could possibly be worth the effort.

"Merlin," Potter said. "Bloody hell, you're so incredibly tight. You're amazing. I need… oh, I need to move, but I'm afraid I'll lose it."

"That's sort of the point, isn't it, Potter?" Draco asked and was somewhat surprised to manage a dry tone.

Potter chuckled. "I suppose. I just want this to be… memorable."

"I assure you I will never forget it."

"I wish I could kiss you right now," Potter said, underscoring Draco's heartfelt words. Should he live to be two hundred, he would never lose the image of Harry Potter hovering over him like a dark angel, black hair tipped in a halo from the dim lighting, glistening with sweat and gazing down at him with an expression Draco had never seen on anyone's face before. If he had been a bigger fool, he would have sworn it was adoration.

Before Draco could formulate a response to Potter's words, he moved in earnest, sending a completely new wave of unpleasant sensation tearing through Draco's insides. He thanked Merlin he did not _actually_ do this for a living because he would rather marry some old, rich, grotesquely fat acquaintance of his mother's. Several of them had, in fact, asked for that very thing once the Malfoys' financial state had become common knowledge.

After a few strokes Draco was at the point of screaming at Potter to hurry the fuck up already, and then something _changed_. Draco's eyes widened and he jolted upwards with a gasp, nearly cracking Potter in the forehead with the unexpected motion.

"What the hell was that?" Draco asked.

"What?" Potter countered intelligently. He looked dazed and Draco realized he had been lost in a Draco-induced fog. The knowledge gave him a heady feeling for a moment and then Potter continued, "Um… was it good or bad?"

"Good," Draco admitted reluctantly.

Potter's white teeth bit into his lower lip and his brow scrunched up in concentration.  "Was it… ah… this?" He thrust forward and tore another gasp from Draco with the motion, who dropped back to the pillow in amazement.

"Yes! _Merlin_ …"

Potter smiled in a decidedly Slytherin-like fashion and Draco almost regretted handing him the reins of control, until Potter set up an incredible thrusting pattern that soon had Draco on the edge of begging for mercy. Draco's cock was unbelievably hard once more, and trembled with the need for release. He had never felt anything like what Potter was doing to him.

"I can't…" Potter tried to speak through explosive gasps. "I can't hold it, Draco. Merlin… You feel… so damned…" Potter took Draco's aching cock in a firm grip and the added sensation was all it took. Draco came for the second time just as Potter cried out and shivered like a sail in a high wind, matching Draco's shudders. He realized his hands were clenched on Potter's shoulders, fingers digging in so tightly he would probably leave bruises. Potter collapsed on him, feeling too-warm against Draco's overheated flesh. Too-warm, but somehow welcome all the same.

Draco's hands slid over the sweat on Potter's back and dipped into the groove between his corded shoulder muscles. Draco had never touched a man before, and he gave in to his curiosity. Potter's back was a marvel and Draco traced it with his palms from neck to arse and back again. Potter said nothing. His soft breaths huffed into Draco's neck, growing ever slower. They stayed in that position until the sweat on Potter's back dried into cool roughness beneath Draco's roaming fingers.

"Am I crushing you?" Potter asked softly when Draco forced his hands to stop moving.

"No," Draco admitted. He wanted to keep touching Potter and was suddenly confused by his feelings. He shook it off. It was curiosity, nothing more.

Potter's softened cock slid from Draco wetly and he grimaced. He thought Potter would cast a Cleaning Charm, but instead Potter rose and went to the washroom, returning with a wet cloth. Potter spent far too long easing the warm flannel over Draco's raw flesh. Despite what they had just done, the action seemed somehow even more intimate and personal. Draco felt exposed and wished for Potter to hurry, but he bit the inside of his cheek and said nothing.

Potter Vanished the cloth with a spell and then slid back into the bed to spoon against Draco's backside. He dragged the covers over them both and then buried his face in the nape of Draco's neck. "Until morning," Potter said throatily. "You're mine until morning ."


	4. Chapter 4

Harry awoke in the morning to find himself alone. Malfoy was gone. Harry had anticipated it, but nevertheless he found a sense of disappointment gnawing at his insides. He scoffed at his foolish reaction as he sat up and put his feet on the floor. What had he expected? Did he think Malfoy would declare his undying love and stay forever? Did Harry even want that? He forced his mind away from the question and made his way to the bathroom.

He splashed water on his face and braced himself against the sink as he watched the water swirl down the drain, unwilling to meet his own gaze in the mirror. What the hell had he done? Well, obviously he had done _that_ , but his hope of flushing the desire for Malfoy out of his blood had backfired. Harry had awakened once in the dark hours of morning, hard with want, and woke the sleeping blond to push into Malfoy's tight heat once more. It had been absolutely brilliant.

Harry grimaced in annoyance—his cock was quickening simply from the memory. Fuck, now what was he supposed to do? Find some other man to sate his lust? He frowned and flipped through a mental catalogue of the men he knew, rejecting them one by one. He had never been attracted to men before. Why did it have to be _Malfoy_ he desired? He swore as he turned on the shower and stepped beneath the spray. It was epically unjust.

His libido cared nothing for justice, apparently, and he was hard and ready for the wank that had become a necessity. The memory of pale skin, paler hair, and molten heat brought him quick release. He came with a strangled cry after only a few urgent strokes and leaned his forehead against the cool wall of the shower. For a moment he thought about taking the day off, but he had a grim suspicion that he would spend all day in bed wanking himself raw if he did so. He scrubbed himself clean, dressed, and Flooed to the Ministry where he tried to throw himself into work and think of nothing else. It nearly worked.

When darkness fell, Harry found himself back beneath the invisibility cloak, lurking in Malfoy's alley. He waited for several hours with no sign of Malfoy. Harry quelled his concern, alternating between worry that he might have frightened Malfoy away and anger that he had fled or found another portion of the city to haunt.

Shortly after midnight, Harry decided that he was wasting his time and even convinced himself to go home instead of storming into Malfoy's flat. He was tired enough that he fell asleep after staring into the darkness for only a short time.

ooOooOooOoo

Waking up in Potter's bed was disturbing. Waking up in Potter's arms was even more disturbing. Draco would not have expected Potter to be clingy and possessive even in slumber, but Draco had a devil's time extracting himself carefully without waking the man. Not helping matters was the fact that it felt sort of… nice… to be cuddled. Potter's face nestled in Draco's hair and one arm was clamped almost too-tightly around his waist. Draco's arse fit snugly into the curve of Potter's pelvis and his radiant heat warmed Draco admirably, even given that the blankets had disappeared somewhere during the night.

The memory of how the covers had got tangled and lost brought heat flooding into Draco's cheeks and nearly propelled him from the bed in a panic. Only years of Slytherin control kept him in place and forced him to gradually lift Potter's muscular arm and ease himself away.

Once extracted, Draco paused and stared down at the sleeping man. He had never had the opportunity to stare unabashed at a naked body before and Potter's was a marvel. Draco's eyes travelled over the mussed black hair and smooth forehead. Potter's brows and lashes looked almost painted on, jet-black against skin that seemed too pale in the faint light of dawn. Potter's face was quite beautiful, especially relaxed in slumber with lips slightly parted and somewhat pink from their night's activities.

Draco's eyes skimmed Potter's neck and shoulders, following the graceful lines down over arms and torso. He flushed again when his eyes met the flaccid flesh between Potter's legs and his gaze flashed back to Potter's face nervously. Potter made no movement other than the steady rise and fall of his chest, so Draco boldly looked again. It wasn't nearly so frightening in the light of morning and looked remarkably like Draco's, other than the mass of black curls nestling it. He admitted wryly to himself that Potter had a very fine cock and—with startling honestly that would only exist in a conversation with himself—he also admitted that it had felt astonishingly good sliding in and out of him in erotic repetition.

Draco drew in a shaking breath and got to his feet, although his eyes still trailed over Potter's form. Potter's legs were long and lithe, ending in surprisingly delicate feet. Draco felt like trailing his fingers over them and scowled at himself as he dragged on his pants. Potter's body had a surprising number of scars—a small moon-shaped gouge on one shoulder, a curious indentation on one forearm, and several odd scratches over his ribs. One long, silvery line looked almost like a snake as it curled from his hipbone across one thigh to disappear from view.

Draco dragged his attention to his folded clothes. Amazingly, they had not fallen from the edge of the bed during their activities—more a testament to the size of the bed than the vigour of its occupants. Thinking of that vigour made Draco's mouth suddenly dry and he quickly dressed before padding barefoot into the kitchen. He thought about making tea for only a moment before Potter's words came back to him.

  
_Until morning. You're mine until morning._

Draco sighed and opened the front door to step out onto the walk. "Well, it's morning. Goodbye, Potter." With that, he Disapparated.

ooo

Once home, Draco decided to take a couple of days off. In his mind, he had more than earned it, and then there was the fact of Potter's ludicrous payment sitting in his account poised to pay those pesky bills. A holiday sounded lovely.

He crawled back into bed after his arrival home and slept until early afternoon. When he awoke, he smirked to himself at the thought of how tired Potter would be, dragging himself to work like a good Auror. Draco stretched and took himself into the bathroom. He Transfigured the shower into a soaking tub and sank into neck-deep hot water with a blissful sigh.

Potter. Damn it all, why was he thinking of Potter at all? After last night Draco should be free of him forever. Surely it was only curiosity, or the need for revenge, that had driven Potter to seek out Draco. Now that he was satisfied, he would go away.

Draco frowned and shut his eyes, but his mind turned, unbidden, to the previous night. Despite his intention to forget it all, the image of Potter on his knees would not be quickly forgotten, nor would the memory of their activities. Salazar, Draco was sore. Remembering how he got that way brought a flush to his cheeks. Potter had been… surprising. Draco's cock woke up at the thought, hardening more quickly than he would have thought possible. He should have been sated after three extraordinary Potter-induced orgasms.

Draco gave in and reached down to grasp his cock, basking in the memory of Potter's hands and lips and— _oh Merlin,_ even the feel of him driving deep… A few harsh strokes were all it took before Draco shuddered and spilled his seed into the water. Shit, he had come thinking about Potter. Merely _thinking_ about Potter! Draco groaned and spelled away the murky water to replace it with clean. He soaked until his fingers were prune-like, but the warm glow he felt had nothing to do with the heat of the liquid.

ooo

Two days later Draco had largely dispelled the image of Potter, or had at least managed to push it to the back of his mind to be recalled on demand—or whenever he had the opportunity to daydream. Or so he convinced himself.

Thanks to Potter's largesse, Draco did not need to go back to work for a while, but he decided that staying home any longer would only lead to sloth and make it more difficult for him to return when necessity demanded. Therefore, he prepared himself and headed back to the street.

He had barely staked out his usual place and arranged himself with sultry artifice when a familiar shape rose up before him. Only Potter's head and chest were visible beneath the invisibility cloak he wore, making him look like a figment of Draco's vivid imagination.

  
Before Draco could speak, he was enveloped by Potter and felt soft lips touch his neck.

"I've been waiting for you," Potter said thickly. "One more night. Bloody hell, just one more night."

Draco felt a surge of heat that had little to do with the warmth of Potter's body pressing against him. Fuck, what had Potter done to make Draco want him so badly? The scent of him alone seemed to fill Draco's senses and short-circuit his faculties. Draco's inability to think was made worse by Potter nibbling on his neck, pressing biting kisses there that flooded Draco's veins and shot desire straight to his cock.

"It's… late, Potter," he managed and wondered what the fuck that statement had to do with anything.

"I don't care. I'll pay your price. Again. You'll just have to stay longer in the morning."

"You're insane," Draco whispered.

"I know," Potter replied, but he held Draco more tightly and Apparated them away.

ooOooOooOoo

Harry knew he should not have sought out Draco Malfoy. He should never have gone to the alley to find him. He should not have allowed his ridiculous libido to take over and force him to latch his mouth onto Malfoy's delectable, pale neck. He should not have clutched Malfoy like a lifeline and he should definitely not have Apparated them straight into his bedroom.

All of his _should nots_ silenced themselves when he stepped back to view his prize. Malfoy was already mussed from Harry's hands—his shirt was askew and his hair was slightly rumpled on one side. Malfoy would probably be perturbed if he knew that, but Harry was not about to tell him, not when the silver eyes were half-lidded and he looked nearly as dazed as Harry felt.

Why in the name of Merlin did it have to be Draco Malfoy that fired Harry's blood, fanning desire into a torrent of need? Harry had not released his hold on Malfoy's short, decorative cape and now he used it to drag Malfoy forward, intending to kiss those incredible lips.

  
Malfoy turned his head at the last moment and Harry's mouth grazed his smooth cheek instead. He remembered the no-kissing rule and growled with frustration.

"Besides kissing, what would you like tonight, Auror Potter?" Malfoy asked in a tone that strove for cool, but Harry thought he detected a hint of nervousness. The knowledge dampened his frustration, but only just.

"For starters I would like you to call me Harry," he said tightly.

He thought he heard Malfoy's teeth grind, but he merely said, "As you wish, Harry."

_Bad idea_ , Harry thought as he closed his eyes. _Very bad idea to have him say your name_. Fuck, he would never have expected it to sound so incredibly erotic. With a sigh that bordered on a moan, Harry raised his hands and began to unclothe his purchase. He wished he could stop them shaking, but Malfoy made no snide comments as Harry unbuckled the short cape and let it drop to the floor. The silk shirt followed, and then the dark trousers that—thankfully—concealed a bulge that seemed as hard as Harry's. He let his fingers trail over it lightly and gave a satisfied grunt when Malfoy whimpered slightly and pressed forward into his hand. Fucking hell, that was hot beyond belief. For a moment Harry wondered if the action was artifice or if Malfoy truly sought his touch. He decided it didn't matter.

Harry put his hands into the waistband of Malfoy's skin-tight pants and pushed them away. Malfoy stepped out of them and stood before Harry, fully nude. Harry took a step back, hoping to regain some control, but the sight of Malfoy in all his glory had the opposite effect. It was nearly criminal how perfect he looked. Malfoy would have been an incredible male model in the Muggle world, selling designer jeans with the fly unbuttoned to show a hint of the glorious curls Harry longed to touch. Those curls surrounded the most beautiful cock Harry had ever seen—not that he had seen many in the flesh—but the memory of Malfoy's had haunted him for the past two days.

"Like what you see, Potter?" Malfoy finally asked and Harry was delighted to see a flush tinting the cheeks of the normally cool Slytherin.

"Very much," Harry admitted huskily and began to tear at his own clothing. He did not remember his shirt having quite so many buttons when he'd put it on that morning. In his impatience, he tore at the material, finding it nearly impossible to thread the bits back through their tiny holes as quickly as he needed.

"Stop," Malfoy said, stepping forward and touching Harry's hands with his own. "Let me."

Harry quit fumbling and allowed his hands to drop as Malfoy reached for the offending fasteners. His long fingers made quick work of the buttons and soon Harry's shirt joined Malfoy's clothing on the floor. Malfoy then reached for Harry's trousers. The faint brush of his knuckles against Harry's abdomen nearly brought his heart into his throat. Harry tried to rein his libido in with annoyance. He would come like a randy third year if he didn't regain control!

Loss of control became more likely when Malfoy dropped to his knees before Harry. He looked up at him with an enigmatic expression that made Harry want to take a photograph. Five thousand Galleons suddenly seemed like a pittance, especially when Malfoy murmured, "Shall I try this again?"

Harry nodded, despite the fact that he fully expected to orgasm the instant Malfoy's lips touched his cock. He shut his eyes, unable to take the sight of Draco Malfoy preparing to suck him off. He felt his trousers and pants slide down over his thighs and knees, exposing himself to his former nemesis. His cock twitched in anticipation.

Malfoy's hands moved back up Harry's legs after helping him step free of the cloth, slowly travelling over the sensitive flesh behind Harry's knees and sliding up to cup his buttocks. Harry dared to open his eyes and saw Malfoy watching his face intently. Time seemed to freeze for a moment when their eyes locked and Harry could scarcely inhale at the intensity of Malfoy's expression. There had always been strong emotion between them, and it seemed to have altered from animosity and anger to pure hunger and, in Harry's case, insatiable need.

  
Harry's hand lifted and brushed over the side of Malfoy's cheek before he tucked his fingers into Malfoy's soft blond hair. He knew it was a caress of unwarranted tenderness, but he didn't care. Let Malfoy make of it what he would.

The grey eyes dropped and Malfoy leaned forward, not to take Harry's cock into his mouth, but to rest his cheek against Harry's flank. A rush of unexpected warmth tightened Harry's throat and he suddenly knew that one more night would not be enough. He wondered if a thousand nights would be enough. His thumb idly caressed Malfoy's cheekbone and he struggled to find words to break the tension. Nothing came to mind but ridiculous emotional babbling that would guarantee the return of the sarcastic, arrogant man he wanted to hate.

Luckily, he remained silent and the moment passed. Malfoy seemed to recover himself and turned to the task at hand. His lips brushed over Harry's skin and slid through the dark curls to the base of his cock. Malfoy placed a gentle kiss there, shaking Harry's precarious mental state even more, and then slowly moved his lips up to the tip. When he finally opened his mouth and wrapped wet heat around the head of Harry's cock, it took every bit of Harry's considerable willpower not to come.

Instead of taking him deep, Malfoy teased the tip with his tongue, lapping and swirling at it until Harry heard a keening whimper issue from his own throat.

"I can't hold it!" he cried suddenly.

Malfoy took him completely then, sheathing him in heat and gripping his arse tightly with both hands. Harry came explosively, feeling as though he hadn't wanked himself raw in the past two days. Malfoy released him and coughed. Harry blinked at him and watched as Malfoy wiped at his mouth with the back of one hand.

"Sorry," Harry said and dimly wondered how often Malfoy sucked off clients. He jealously hoped it wasn't often. His hand tightened reflexively in Malfoy's hair, but he let go when Malfoy winced. "Sorry," he repeated and untangled his fingers. He moved his hands to Malfoy's shoulders and pulled gently, urging him to his feet. Harry wanted to kiss him so badly he was nearly shaking with the effort of restraint, but he placed soft, biting kisses on Malfoy's pale neck instead while guiding him towards the bed.

Malfoy sprawled backward and shifted until he lay in the centre; Harry admired the picture he made for a moment. He practically dove on Malfoy then, and attacked him with his mouth. If he was to be denied access to that gorgeous mouth, then he would kiss everything else. Every inch. Harry kissed, licked, and nipped blazing paths across Malfoy's skin, feeling the need to mark him, to possess him.

Malfoy arched and gasped. "Don't—mar the merchandise, Potter."

_Mine_ , Harry wanted to snarl savagely. He felt the urge to bite down, to put his brand on Malfoy for the world to see, but Malfoy flexed his arm and Harry caught sight of the remnant of Malfoy's Dark Mark. He had been marked enough. The thought gentled Harry instantly and his kisses softened into teasing flicks with just enough pressure to be felt and just enough tongue to tantalize.

"Fuck, Potter," Malfoy said and moaned. His cock leaked prodigiously—Harry had fondled, licked, and sucked everything but that.

"Harry," he ordered thickly.

"Fuck, _Harry_ ," Malfoy replied. It was enough to bring Harry's latent erection back to full strength. He should not have been fully aroused so soon, but Malfoy—bloody hell, how could he not be when the blond writhed so beautifully and his panting gasps warmed Harry's blood with every exhale? Malfoy's next words nearly undid him completely. "Fuck me, Harry."

"I will," he promised reassuringly. "I will."

ooOooOooOoo

But Harry didn't. Draco knew about fucking. Not from experience, of course, but because he had been inside the minds and fantasies and whims of dozens of his clients. The people Draco invited in wanted to fuck, or to be sucked off, or to pound themselves into a willing body or be pounded into. They did not want to kiss every inch of their rentboy's body. They did not wish to bring their hired slut to the brink of orgasm and they did not look at him with gazes that bordered on adoration.

Leave it to Harry fucking Potter to be different.

"Want you so much, Draco," he muttered, the bastard, and Draco gasped when Potter's cheek grazed the head of his cock—most likely by accident, because he had taken care not to touch the part of Draco that was most screaming for attention.

Potter's fingers stroked at Draco's testicles, pulling the taut flesh there gently. Draco's knuckles nearly cracked with the effort of holding back his orgasm.

"I want you to come all over me," Potter said huskily. Draco crazily wondered how many others had heard that particular voice, because it was the most erotic bloody thing he had ever heard. He nearly did as suggested merely from the sound of it. Draco heard a familiar spell and then Potter's fingers moved downwards. Draco opened his legs expectantly, almost surprising himself with the wanton movement, but needing Potter inside of him even at the cost of his pride.

Potter sucked in a breath and Draco felt coolness circle his hole, which was already relaxed and ready— _oh so ready_ —for whatever Potter felt like inserting. Potter was thankfully gentle. Even though Draco had shoved his own fingers up there several times in the past two days, trying vainly to recreate the sensation Potter had discovered, it simply wasn't the same. Draco wondered if watching the expressions flit across Potter's face made the difference.

Potter's fingers slid in and out, slick with lubricant, first one and then several. Draco tried not to arch his back and push against Potter's hand eagerly—and failed miserably.

"More," he demanded finally, nearly to the point of begging with need.

The fingers disappeared, to be quickly replaced by the burning, stretching pain of Potter's cock. Draco made a noise of protest and Potter murmured soothing sounds against Draco's heated flesh. "Better soon," Potter said. Draco knew it was true, but the burning grew almost unbearable before Potter pulled nearly out.

"Wait," Draco said, but Potter plunged forward in typical Gryffindor fashion, striking that magical place on the first try. Draco cried out and his hands found purchase on Potter's hot skin.

"Are you okay?" Potter asked worriedly.

"Yes," Draco hissed and arched in anticipation of the next brilliant stroke.

Potter complied and it was even better than their first night. Perhaps Draco was more relaxed or Potter was more confident. Whatever the case, Draco writhed and twisted mindlessly, meeting Potter's thrusts and babbling ridiculous words that would likely come back to haunt him later, except that Potter was brilliant and gorgeous and… _oh Merlin_ , he was coming all over Potter, as requested.

"You're incredible," Potter whispered and his voice verged on inaudible, except that his lips were close to Draco's ear because Draco's arms were wrapped around his neck, holding tightly as Potter's shudders merged with his, and he was filled with Potter's release.

Potter collapsed on Draco's chest and stayed that way for far longer than Draco would have expected, until they were both sweat-cooled, except that Potter's ridiculous body heat kept Draco warm as their breathing slowly returned to normal. When Potter finally rolled away, it was only to cast a quick Cleaning Charm and then gather Draco close, spooning his heroic body around Draco's like a child protecting a treasured toy. Draco could not find the energy to protest. When he felt lips press into the curve between his shoulder and neck, he said nothing, but unexpected warmth filled him and he relaxed into Potter's grip.

_Stupid Potter_ , he thought affectionately.

ooo

When Draco awoke it was still dark. He opened his eyes and suppressed a sharp intake of breath. Harry Potter's eyes were open, watching him. He was a mere hand span away. Their breath mingled, which should have been unpleasant, but somehow wasn't.

"What are you doing?" Draco asked.

"Watching you sleep," Potter replied.

"Why?"

"I don't know." Potter reached up and touched the side of Draco's face. His thumb brushed lightly over Draco's lower lip.

"What time is it?" Draco asked, trying not to wonder what Potter's strange actions meant. It was stupid to be here. He should never have allowed Potter to touch him. He made as if to pull away, but Potter's grip tightened, slipping around to the back of his head. Potter moved forward and for a moment Draco thought Potter meant to kiss him, which he did, but his lips veered away from Draco's mouth to press against his forehead instead.

"Don't go," Potter said.

Draco grimaced, fighting the stupid urge to reply that he would stay as long as Harry wanted, but he knew that path led to madness. "Loo," he replied.

Potter sighed, but released him. "Hurry back."

Draco grabbed his wand and fled to the bathroom to cast a Tempus Charm. It was only 3 a.m., plenty of time to Apparate home and get some sleep. He relieved the pressure on his bladder and then ran water in the sink until it turned hot. He splashed his face and patted it dry with a soft towel. Potter's bathroom was surprisingly clean and organized. Draco had expected wet towels on the floor and toothpaste on the edges of the sink.

Then again, nearly everything about Potter surprised him these days. Draco fingered his wand and debated Apparating straight home, but his clothes were still in the bedroom with Potter, who planned to pay another 5,000 Galleons for Draco's company. Potter would likely be upset if he did not feel he had received his money's worth.

Draco blinked at himself in the mirror, glad that he had not cast a _Lumos_. He would rather not see the truth in his own reflection—that perhaps he wanted to return to Potter's bed.

The door opened and Draco turned to see Potter looking slightly panicked. He sagged against the frame. "I was afraid you had gone," he said.

"And be forced to give you a discount? Perish the thought," Draco said lightly.

Potter pushed himself away from the door and took Draco into his arms. His nude body felt deliciously warm against Draco's. He had gained a chill standing on the cold tile unclothed. "Your skin is like ice," Potter murmured. "Come back to bed."

He led Draco back to the heat of his bed and then warmed him once more with hot kisses, caresses, and another session of mind-melting sex. When Draco fell asleep the second time, he did not awaken until long past dawn.

ooOooOooOoo

Harry leaned against the bedpost while he indulged in his newest hobby—watching Draco Malfoy sleep. He could not seem to help himself. Draco's face was so beautiful when he slept. No more or less beautiful than when he was awake, of course, but so… unguarded. Long lashes fluttered against his pale cheeks like whispers of gold. His lips curved every so often, as if sleep brought him a happiness that seemed to elude him in daylight's reality. Silver-blond hair lay haphazardly across Draco's face and clung to Harry's pillow. He looked like a mussed child, except for the sensuality of his features. There was nothing childlike in his beauty.

Harry swallowed hard, remembering the night. Draco was… incredible. Harry had stupidly thought to drive Draco from his mind, only to find him entrenched even more firmly. He was like a barbed hook, driving ever deeper once beneath the skin, unable to be torn free without pain.

Draco sighed in his sleep and shifted. His lips parted to expose a hint of even white teeth. One hand trailed out over the sheet, as if seeking a warm body. Harry frowned, wondering if Draco sought a particular warm body, or if anyone would do. He pushed away a random flash of pain at the thought and cursed himself for idiocy. Draco was a rentboy. He did not belong to Harry. He belonged to everyone… and no one. Harry wondered if anyone would ever penetrate that icy façade. Harry thought he had a few times, last night, but maybe Draco was just a very good actor, giving Harry his money's worth.

_Fuck_. What the hell did Harry want, anyway? He wanted sex; he paid for it; Draco provided it. That was all there was to it. Wanting more would be the ultimate stupidity.

Draco's fingers curled, finding nothing, and his lashes moved in a slow blink. Harry sat on the bed and leaned forward, awaiting the moment when Malfoy's grey irises came into view, hoping for a single unguarded moment before the shutters fell.

He got more than he bargained for. Draco's eyes fixed on him and focused and a slow smile curved his perfect lips into a Cupid's bow that sent arrows winging straight to Harry's unprotected heart. He felt something wrench and realized with a shock that he was well and truly fucked. It must have shone in his eyes, because Draco's smile faded and the shutters dropped, masking emotion as quickly as the platinum eyes shifted away.

_Come back!_ Harry wanted to scream, and could not stop himself from reaching out to touch the hand that was already withdrawing, curling back into the invisible shell that surrounded Draco, protecting him from Harry and everyone like him. Draco froze and Harry seized his advantage, sliding his fingers around to hold Draco's wrist, absently noting the pulse that beat there. He lifted Draco's wrist and leaned down to press a kiss to the back of Draco's hand; the bones felt delicate beneath his lips. Draco's skin was so soft that Harry let his lips slide down to the knuckles and back up again, wanting to keep going, to map the smooth bits and the rough bits, and all the other bits of Draco's body.

Draco snatched his hand away and Harry smiled ruefully. "Good morning, beautiful," he said.

Draco shut his eyes and absently rubbed at the back of his hand where Harry had kissed it. A faint blush tinted his cheeks, making him look even more irresistible.

"I should have expected you to be sappy in the morning, Potter."

"Harry," he corrected.

Draco frowned. "How long do you expect me to be on the clock?" He glanced toward the window as he said it, probably judging the time and hoping for the termination of Harry's company.

"You can escape after breakfast. I cooked it for you, so I hope you're hungry."

"You cook?"

Harry laughed. "On occasion. Mostly when I want to eat. No house-elves, you know."

"Oh. Me, either."

Harry frowned, but the words had not sounded bitter. They shook him, nonetheless, with the knowledge of everything Draco had lost. Shit. On top of everything else, he did not want to feel pity for him, any more than he already did. He tore the blankets away from Draco's body playfully and grinned when the action earned a yelp.

"You're a right bastard, Potter," Draco said as he drew his knees up to partially cover himself. It made no difference. Harry's gaze slid over Draco's nude form and he began to crawl across the bed in a predatory fashion. Draco drew in a sharp breath and pushed himself backwards, even though the movement caused him to expose himself to Harry, whose eyes feasted on Draco's flaccid cock. He was even more gorgeous in the daylight.

"Breakfast, Potter!" Draco said and lifted a finger as though to halt him.

"Breakfast can wait," Harry said thickly. He dove on Draco and curled his arms around him, enfolding him in a warm embrace.

"But I'm hungry," Draco protested, although he gasped when Harry's mouth fastened on one pink nipple.

"Merlin, me, too," Harry replied and sucked. Draco arched beneath him and breakfast was forgotten.

ooOooOooOoo

Later, Harry sat across from him, nursing a hot cup of tea. By all rights he should have been sated. The sight of Draco Malfoy eating should have been a pretty display, but definitely not erotic. Draco was not even trying to be attractive. He slumped wearily with one elbow propped on the table and one cheek resting on his palm while he daintily placed a forkful of eggs into his mouth. He did not look at Harry, instead fixing his gaze on his plate as though it held the secrets of the universe.

Harry had picked at his food and then sat back to watch Draco, fascinated with every movement he made. Draco's tongue flicked out and touched his lip for an instant. He chewed methodically. As if sensing Harry's gaze, he raised his eyes. A flush tinted his cheeks and Harry gulped his tea then winced as it burned his throat. Draco straightened and pushed his plate away. He had eaten nearly all of his food and finished two cups of tea.

"Acceptable breakfast, Potter. Thank you."

"Harry," he reminded quietly.

Draco stood so quickly the chair legs scraped on the floor. "Harry," Draco conceded, but it sounded like an epithet. "May I leave now?" The words rang with bitterness and Harry felt chagrin. Of course Draco did not want to stay. He had fulfilled his part of their business transaction.

  
Harry almost nodded, but instead got to his feet and walked around the table. Grey eyes watched him warily, but Harry said nothing as he enfolded Draco in a rough embrace. Harry buried his face in Draco's neck and felt the soft platinum hair fall over his face as he breathed in the unique scent of him. Draco's arms remained fixed at his sides and he was stiff as a broom in Harry's embrace.

With one last inhalation, Harry admitted defeat and stepped back.

"Goodbye, Draco," he said with finality.

"Goodbye, Harry," Draco replied quietly. He walked to the door and went out. Harry heard the faint crack of Apparition before he sank into the nearest chair.

He stayed there for a very long time.


	5. Chapter 5

Draco was tired, but far too discombobulated to sleep. He sat on his sofa and stared at the wall for nearly an hour, trying to think of anything other than Harry Potter. When that worked for no more than three minutes at a stretch, he allowed his memory to track back over every moment of the night past.

It was too much to bear. It was over. It had been amazing, but it was done. Draco should never have agreed to a second night with Potter. It had been a massive mistake. Draco had never been able to predict Potter's actions. Had he sought out Draco in order to drive him crazy?

Draco lurched to his feet, haunted by the memory of Harry Potter's touch. Fuck, why could he not have acted like a normal mark? Why had he looked at Draco like he was… like he was _someone_. Like he was a person instead of a thing.

Draco Disapparated. He needed some fresh air. Not surprisingly, a walk in the pouring rain did nothing to ease his whirling thoughts. He stared into the murky water of the Thames several hours later, soaked to the skin, chilled, and utterly miserable.

He also knew what he had to do. Thanks to Potter he had ten thousand Galleons, a veritable fortune. It was time to start over. He would leave his flat and move to another city, or at least another part of the city. Somewhere nearer his mother, perhaps. Maybe he would find a real job. He could not keep Memory Charming people without drawing the eventual attention of the Aurors. Aurors other than Potter, at any rate. He wondered what had happened with Potter's investigation. Potter seemed to have completely forgotten Bernard Carversham.

Draco frowned. It made no sense. Of course Potter was still on the case. He was only trying to lull Draco into a false sense of security. Now that he had blackmail material, he could drag Draco in for more intense questioning.

Draco shook the wet hair out of his eyes with a sigh of disgust. What the hell was he thinking? Draco was the one with blackmail material. One bloody Pensieve memory released to the press and Potter's closet sexuality would be exposed. The hero's pristine reputation would be demolished.

Even as the thought occurred to him, Draco knew he would never do it, not only because the resulting scandal would destroy his mother, but also because the memories of Potter were his alone.

He sneezed and drew his wand. He supposed he should Apparate home before he caught a bloody cold. As it was, he knew it would take a steaming hot bath and an hour in front of a roaring fire to warm up.

He appeared in his living room, and nearly ran straight into his nemesis. "What," he spluttered, "are you doing here, Potter?"

"Waiting for you."

"Do you have any concept at all of privacy?" Draco demanded. _Bloody Auror!_ Draco knew damn well he had locked and warded his door.

Potter's hands reached out to touch Draco's face. "Fuck, Draco, you're drenched—and chilled to the bone! Where have you been?"

"Out," Draco said and jerked away from Potter's oh-so-warm touch. "Which is where _you_ are going."

"Let me help," said the Wonder Auror and pulled out his wand. Before Draco could protest, a dense whirlwind seemed to swirl around him, nearly pulling the air from his lungs and compressing him tightly before dissipating and leaving him completely dry. He inhaled sharply and opened his mouth, but Potter uttered another spell. This one seemed to curl around Draco's feet and then wrap itself around his calves, knees and legs before moving quickly upwards, blanketing him in a cradle of warmth. Despite himself, Draco nearly sighed with pleasure at the sudden onslaught of heat. He felt gooseflesh stand out all over his body as the chill was driven away.

Potter watched him expressionlessly. "Better?"

Draco wanted to rail at him, but he was too out of sorts. Why was Potter here, making Draco feel good? Taking care of him, for fuck's sake? "What do you want?"

Potter looked away and shifted his feet. His fingers tapped on his wand nervously. Draco sighed. One minute Potter was ludicrously powerful, casting two difficult spells without half a thought, and the next he was acting like a bashful child. He made no sense at all.

"I… um… I have a proposal for you," Potter finally said.

Draco's heart nearly leaped into his throat and it was a moment before he could speak. "A. Proposal."

"Um…" Potter's eyes widened and he flushed darkly. "I mean a proposition! A _proposition_. You know, a… a plan."

Draco's heartbeat resumed something akin to a normal rhythm. "A proposition." He tried to keep the glacial tone from his voice, but knew he hadn't quite managed it.

Potter nodded quickly. Draco walked around him and headed for the bedroom before he realized that would be a colossally bad idea and switched his trajectory to a small chair near the window. He sat down and raised an ankle to rest it on his knee, then leaned back with an air of disdain. And waited.

Potter cleared his throat and stepped closer. Draco enjoyed his nervousness. Doubtless Potter wanted another night, the imbecile. Draco would take immense satisfaction in refusing. He did not dare spend any more time with Harry Potter.

"I'm hoping… Well, I want to ask you…" Potter's babbling, while entertaining, could not withstand the vaunted Gryffindor courage, which finally showed itself in a deep breath and a rush of words. "I want to buy your services for an extended period of time."

Draco raised a brow. It was not what he had expected. "An extended period of time." He realized he had done nothing but repeat Potter's words since his arrival and vowed to break that habit just as soon as Potter stopped saying things of utter ridiculousness.

"Yes. For six… six months."

" _Six months_?" Draco burst out, mimicking Potter yet again, but unable to stop himself. To make matters worse, Potter dropped to his knees at Draco's feet and put a hand on Draco's raised calf.

"Yes. Look, I know it's crazy, but I can't seem to get you out of my head and I don't think a couple of weeks will cut it and maybe it will wear off with familiarity. I know it's going to cost me a fortune and I'm almost terrified to hear your price, but I'll take you out of here…" Potter waved a hand at Draco's modest surroundings, "and set you up in your own place. But I want exclusivity."

Potter's face was set in the same determined planes he had likely turned on the Dark Lord right before staring his own death in the face, but his fingers had begun to caress, ever so lightly, and work their way down to Draco's ankle. The word _exclusivity_ repeated itself in Draco's mind like a chant. _Six months._ His expression must have reflected his horrified shock, for Potter tightened his grip on Draco's leg.

"I know it's an utterly insane idea and maybe I should have thought about it more, but I went to work this morning and I could hardly think straight and the idea of someone else touching you is turning me into a fucking mental case and…" Potter got to his feet as Draco's breath caught in his throat. Potter was jealous of Draco's clients? That was revealing. It also opened a whole world of possibility to Draco's Slytherin instincts. Luckily, Potter continued to babble. He could not seem to contain the words now that they had begun and he paced while he spoke. Draco watched Potter's lithe body move. The git had carelessly thrown his Auror robes over the back of Draco's couch and wore only a pair of regimental black trousers and a cream-coloured tunic belted with a burgundy sash. He was gorgeous.

"You'll have to give it some consideration, of course. I don't want you to decide hastily, as it's a big decision. You might have to make some arrangement with your… regular clients…" Potter's jaw clenched slightly and his emerald gaze shot to Draco for a moment. Draco felt a flare of purest satisfaction at the possessive gesture. Bloody hell, the power of it was nearly monumental, but it warred with sheer terror. How could Draco possibly withstand the intensity of becoming Potter's possession?

"Anyway," Potter continued, "I'd like you to think about it and… and maybe have dinner with me tonight to let me know your answer? And your… um… price?" Potter's fingers plucked nervously at the sash at his waist. "I'll pick you up here at eight?" Hopeful green eyes turned to Draco, who nodded, because Potter's pacing and plucking and possessive revelation was too much to take in, and Draco could not concentrate on anything but the way Potter's thigh muscles moved when he walked, which brought to mind the memory of the feel of those muscles moving between Draco's legs…

"Eight o'clock, then," Potter said briskly and grabbed up his robe from the couch. With a flick of his wand, he was gone.

ooOooOooOoo

Harry Apparated home, tossed his Auror robes over the arm of a chair and sank onto the sofa. He put his head in his hands and wondered what the hell was wrong with him. This had grown beyond obsession.

As soon as Draco had departed earlier, Harry had felt such a void he had actually gone to the Ministry and enlisted the services of an Obliviator to check him for signs of a Memory Charm or an Imperius. It was almost upsetting that the man had found nothing. Whatever he felt for Draco came from within. Harry had been so distracted that Kingsley had taken one look at him and sent him home. "Whatever it is, go sleep it off before you come down with something," the Minister had ordered.

Harry wished it were that simple, but he had done as bid and left the Ministry. He had paced the length of his living room for nearly an hour and thought about returning to work, because his flat was filled with memories of Draco Malfoy.

After suppressing the urge to wank himself raw, he left his flat for Diagon Alley and Gringott's. A gruellingly long wait and relatively short conversation with a goblin later and Harry knew more about the contents of his Gringott's vault than he had in… well, ever. He was also quite satisfied that he could afford his new rentboy, but it wasn't until he returned home that the insane idea had come to him—the insane, but tantalizing idea that perhaps he could have Draco for longer than a single night. Longer than a few nights. Before he could talk himself out of it, he had Apparated to Draco's flat and spent some time cracking the wards and letting himself in. He had decided it was better to wait than try and track down Malfoy.

Harry made a soothing cup of hot tea, which grew cold while he spun the cup mindlessly on the table in a repetitive pattern.

Damn, it was hours until eight. He would be a bloody nervous wreck by then. Hell, he would be a wreck anyway, if Draco refused. He tugged at his hair and wondered why he had even made such a ludicrous offer. Draco was probably laughing his arse off right now.

And when had he become Draco and stopped being Malfoy, anyway?

Harry sighed. Probably about the time he had thrown back his head and screamed Harry's name to the ceiling.

He rose at the memory and went to take a shower. He gave in to a much-needed wank that barely took the edge off, but it did help a bit. He at least had the presence of mind to quickly dress and Apparate to Diagon Ally, this time to prepare for his "date". If Draco planned to refuse him, Harry would not make it an easy decision.

ooOooOooOoo

Draco sat in the chair for a long time, trying to process Potter's outlandish suggestion. He could feel the heat of Potter's hand on his leg long after he was gone.

_Could he be serious?_

Draco threw himself to his feet and took a long, hot bath, after which he went to visit his mother. She sensed his turmoil immediately.

"What is it, darling?"

Draco shook off his reverie of Potter kneeling at his feet with that stupidly earnest expression. _Stupid, lunatic Potter._

"I'm sorry, Mother. I have a… business deal… on my mind."

She smiled. "I understand, Draco. Just relax and enjoy your lunch. I will pretend you are listening while I tell you about my shopping expedition yesterday."

That caught Draco's attention. "You went shopping?"

His mother seldom left the house these days. It worried him, which was one reason he made damned sure she lived in a place conducive to relaxation.

She smiled at him, looking almost like her old self, in the days before they had lost… everything. "Yes, dear. I do that, on occasion."

Draco tried not to frown. The last "occasion" he knew of had been six months ago, when he had practically dragged her to a lesser-known part of wizarding Wales so that she could procure some new clothing. She absolutely refused to be seen in London. Thankfully, their trip had been brief and no one in Wales had recognized her. Even so, she had locked herself in her room for days afterward, claiming to have acquired a fever from being out in public.

"Where did you go?"

"Paris."

"You went shopping in Paris?" Draco gaped at her.

"Of course, darling. I've been there before, you know."

"Well, yes, but…"

"Estefan was so glad to see me. He's been saving several new gowns for my perusal. It was very exciting. I need to see him more often."

"You certainly do," Draco agreed. He wondered what had brought on the sudden change in his mother, but dared not ask. She volunteered without his prodding.

"It was Harry Potter, actually, that made me go to Paris."

Draco tried not to goggle at her and failed. "Potter?" he asked stupidly.

She nodded. "His visit made me realize how much I had missed interacting with others of our kind. What was I thinking, shutting myself away like this? Your father…" Her voice faltered for a moment, but she went on in a stronger tone. "Your father would hate to see me puttering about the house like an old woman. Although I would rather not show my face amongst those that would look down their noses at me, I see no reason why I should shut myself off from the rest of the world, do you?"

Draco shook his head quickly. "Of course not, Mother."

"In fact, I'm thinking about moving to France."

He could not suppress his horrified expression and she quickly reached across the table to grip his hand. "Oh, my darling, not right away! Don't look so stricken, Draco!"

He suddenly felt faint and clutched her hand. She couldn't leave him! He had no one else in the world! His face must have matched his terrified thoughts, for his mother got to her feet and hurried around the table to embrace him tightly. He drank in the familiar scent of her perfume.

"Oh, Draco! I won't go, darling. Don't fear, I won't leave you. I'll never leave you."

Her cooing, motherly tones brought him back to reality. He mentally shook himself. For fuck's sake, he was no longer a child, clinging to his mother's skirts! He hurried to reassure her. "No, it's fine, Mother. It was just a… a bit of a shock. If you want to move to Paris, I will support you, of course."

"No, it was a silly thought."

Draco tried to recover his aplomb. There was no reason he couldn't visit her in France as well as here. The expense would be another matter, of course, but there was always Potter's offer to consider…

"It was not a silly thought, Mother. I think it's an excellent idea. You have many friends there, do you not?"

She nodded, although she still looked uncertain. "Yes, actually." She began to rattle off a significant number of names that Draco had no recollection of whatsoever. She released him in order to gesture with her hands, becoming more animated by the moment. Draco smiled at her. If he had to lose her in order to bring her back to the person she had once been, then it would be worth it.

And perhaps Harry Potter was the very person to bring about that change.

ooo

When the knock sounded at the door, Draco jumped, even though he had expected it. The clock had barely finished tolling the eighth hour before the rapping began.

"Come in!" Draco yelled, knowing Potter would do so whether invited or not.

The door opened and Potter stepped inside, or at least Draco thought it was Potter. The man in the doorway could have stepped from the pages of a wizarding fashion catalogue. Draco knew his jaw was standing open, but he could not seem to close it.

Potter had cut his hair. Instead of sticking out at unruly angles looking like it had been chopped by a mad gardener, it now stuck out in spiky, just-rolled-out-of-bed, tousled glory.

He also had new glasses. The clunky black frames had been replaced by delicate gold spectacles whose lightness highlighted the brilliance of the green behind them.

And the robes… bloody fucking hell. "Who dressed you?" Draco asked in amazement.

To his astonishment, Potter turned in a slow circle to give Draco a view of all angles. The prat was dressed all in white and gold. The pure white trousers hugged him in all the right places, showing off muscular thighs, tight arse and—dear Merlin—the exquisite package in front.

Potter's white button up shirt looked anything but bland. It had been perfectly tailored and oversized cuffs buttoned midway up Potter's forearms. A pale gold cravat was properly tied at Potter's throat. The outer robes were slung over Potter's left arm. Draco could spot the excellent quality merely from the drape and sheen of it.

The makeover might have been an affectation, but the grin was pure Potter.

"Madame Toulouse," he admitted. "I thought I might need some… ammunition."

_Ammunition_. Draco made a mental note to send a token to Madame Toulouse. She had provided Potter with enough _ammunition_ to bring Draco down with a single glance. Not that he would ever admit that to Potter.

"I hope you kept the receipt," he said callously and then wanted to cut out his own tongue at Potter's stricken expression. Potter looked down at his clothing uncertainly and then turned his gaze back to Draco. He looked like a beaten puppy.

"I can change if you'd like," Potter said quietly.

Draco waved a hand airily, still feeling like a heel. "It's fine. Better than you usually look, at least." Potter nodded, but Draco could see he was not convinced. Draco wanted to shake him. The Defeater of Voldemort. How could he not know he was the sexiest man alive, even dressed in his usual Muggle denims and oversized t-shirts?

"Then you'll come with me?" The hopeful tone in Potter's voice did disturbing things to Draco's libido, especially when he took the words completely out of context.

"I had no idea you planned to dress so… upscale," Draco said. "I'll have to change." Truthfully, he was not certain he had anything available. Most of his clothing was in storage at his mother's. Everything in his closet at the moment was geared towards sleazy seduction, not dining out with the Hero of the World.

Potter coughed. "I bought you something. You don't have to wear it if you don't want to, but I thought it would look nice on you and since I didn't tell you I'd be wearing this, because frankly, I had no idea myself…"

"Potter, you're babbling."

The dark-haired man nodded and cast a Conjuration Charm. A large box appeared in his hands and he thrust it towards Draco. He took it reluctantly and plucked at the copper-coloured ribbon, a signature of Madame Toulouse's. Ribbon and box top sailed to the floor and revealed ice-blue fabric. Draco ran a finger over it and realized he had not had anything new of this quality in… years. His throat felt suddenly tight and he turned away to avoid divulging too much to Potter.

"I'll be right back," he said and entered the bedroom with his gift.

It fit to perfection. Either Madame Toulouse still had his measurements on file—and Potter had disclosed his identity (and wasn't that a disturbing thought)—or Potter was a better judge of fit than Draco would have imagined.

The trousers and shirt were identical to Potter's, but for the colour. The ice-blue made Draco's grey eyes seem brighter, highlighted by the silver cravat. The robes were brilliantly soft and looked winter-thick, which was a deception. They were light enough to wear on a summer day and would be perfect with the cool, wet weather they currently experienced. Draco ran a hand over his front and then tied the silver sash. The edges of the garment were heavily embroidered with silver thread in a pattern reminiscent of ancient Muggle kings.

Draco spent too much time fixing his hair and studying his reflection in the mirror. How long had it been since he had dressed like this? He had always taken social activities for granted—the dull parties and luncheons and events that his parents had dragged him to as a boy. He never would have guessed that he would miss them once they were gone. How much worse must it be for his mother?

Draco straightened and gave himself a haughty glance in the mirror. He could do this. He would sell himself to Harry Potter and possibly, one day, regain all that he had lost.

ooOooOooOoo

Harry thought he might have made a huge mistake. When Draco returned, Harry was utterly transfixed. He looked like the moon—cold, distant, and absolutely untouchable. The colour had been a perfect choice and the cut of the robes was brilliance. The silver sash belting Draco's lean waist made Harry want to drop to his knees and untie it with his teeth. He felt his erection stir and shut his eyes to block out the sight. Thankfully, the dry tones washed over him and gave him something to focus on other than how edible the blond looked.

"It will do, Potter. Where are we going?"

"I… um…" Harry opened his eyes, but kept his gaze firmly fixed on Draco's face, which was not much help, actually. Platinum hair fell perfectly over Draco's brow, making Harry's hands itch to touch it. "I was hoping you would know of a place."

Draco issued a long-suffering sigh. "Very well. Since the Icon of Purity cannot be seen with a lowly rentboy, we will have to leave the country. Do you have a problem with that?"

Harry shook his head, wishing he could deny Draco's words, but they were true, not merely because Draco was a rentboy, but also because of who he was—Malfoy, former Death Eater, Harry's former nemesis. There would be a bloody uproar. Harry's friends would go into apoplexy, especially Ron.

Draco marched forward and took his arm, assaulting Harry's senses with his heady cologne, but it was his proximity that nearly did Harry in. He almost leaned forward to steal a forbidden kiss, but Draco hastily produced his wand and swept them away.

Harry had no idea where they ended up. The restaurant was elegant and the service was impeccable. He thought the language spoken was French, although it sounded like something else entirely when the waiters spoke amongst themselves. Draco spoke flawlessly when he ordered their meals and a bottle of wine. Harry obediently tried every dish and saw Draco's eyes glint with amusement several times. He had little doubt some of the items were questionable, but all were palatable, so he refused to ask.

Harry covered his nervousness by talking throughout the meal, telling stories of amusing cases. Surprisingly, Draco seemed interested. He laughed at the right times and asked the proper questions. Harry almost felt like they were old friends reacquainting themselves after a long absence. By unspoken agreement, they avoided incendiary topics, as well as the matter that hovered between them.

After a delicious desert of cakelike volcanoes that erupted with tiny flames and edible gold dust before oozing thick lava fudge, Harry sat back with a sigh of contentment. He rarely ate out and never at such an amazing place.

Draco took a sip of some exotic after-dinner liqueur and then raised his eyes to Harry's. "Five hundred thousand Galleons, Potter," he said.

Harry gasped and sat up straight, suddenly dead sober despite three glasses of wine. "Five hundred thousand…"

"And Sundays are mine," Draco added.

Harry studied his plate and allowed relief to wash over him. Five hundred thousand Galleons. He had prepared for double that. What he had not prepared for was Draco's acceptance. He had been certain the blond would refuse, at least at first.

He raised his eyes to meet the cool gaze that seemed to measure him. Harry took a deep breath and then smiled. _Six months!_ Six months of touching, holding, tasting…

"Exclusivity," Harry blurted.

Draco blinked at him. "Pardon?"

"I don't want you seeing anyone else while we're together. Even on Sundays or whatnot."

To his astonishment, Draco smiled. "I don't see a problem with that, Potter."

"Really?" It was obviously the night for surprises.

"Well, obviously some of my clients will not be so understanding, but personally…" He shrugged. "One client is as good as another, eh?"

Harry's lips thinned at the comment, but he knew he had no right to expect preferential treatment. "How much time will you need to prepare?" he asked. "You know, to tell… whoever… that you won't be available."

"A few days," Draco replied.

"Saturday, then?" Harry asked.

Draco nodded. Harry smiled and quickly paid the check. They made their way outside where Harry Apparated them back to Draco's flat. It was dark until Draco lit a couple of lamps with a flick of his wand.

Harry hovered for a moment, torn between the door and the man standing before him. He took a tentative step toward Draco, but was halted by the wand between them.

"Saturday, Potter," Draco said with a beatific smile.

"Harry."

"Saturday, Harry."

He smiled, gave Draco a formal bow, and left.


	6. Chapter 6

It took Draco less than an hour to "make arrangements" for his absence. He simply sent owl messages to all of his usual clients and mentioned that he would be unavailable for approximately six months. None of them were particularly important, so explanations were unnecessary. Unfortunately, that left him with a couple of days with absolutely nothing to do. He tried not to think about Potter at all and occupied some of his time by going through his wardrobe. He purchased several new outfits and placed others on hiatus. Outstanding bills were quickly paid, thanks to Potter's prior payments, and Draco breathed more easily for the first time in months.

On Friday, his Gringott's account showed a transfer of five hundred thousand Galleons and Draco had to wonder how Potter had explained that particular transaction. For "services not yet rendered"? The thought of providing those upcoming services made Draco flee his small flat and seek the bracing air of Hyde Park. He forced himself to use a Muggle umbrella in order to avoid frightening the natives, as it was pouring rain, as usual. He wondered what time Potter planned to come for him, a question that was answered when he returned home to find an owl perched on the sill of his small living room window.

_I'll see you at 9:00. Be ready._

Draco sighed. _Eloquent as always, Potter._

When the designated hour rolled around on Saturday morning, Draco was a bundle of nerves. He had awakened at the simply ludicrous hour of four a.m. and consumed several bracing cups of tea. In hindsight, that had been a mistake as he was now tired but jittery. He had changed clothes four times and finally settled on a pair of chocolate-coloured trousers and a cashmere jumper that reminded him of sea foam. The fact that the fabric fairly begged to be touched had nothing to do with Draco's choice.

Potter was five minutes early. He rapped on the door instead of barging inside, so Draco opened it by hand. Potter wore a black Muggle-style coat buttoned up to his neck. It hung just past his knees, exposing only the lower legs of his black trousers and heavy boots. Despite his weather-proof gear, his hair was wet. The idiot had obviously been out in the rain without the benefit of hat or Umbrella Charm.

Draco helpfully pointed out the fact.

Potter grinned. "I was distracted," he said. "Are you ready?"

Draco nodded. He had packed a trunk, even though he was not certain Potter would remember his offer to set Draco up with a new residence.

"Do you have luggage?" Potter asked.

Draco Summoned his trunk and Potter cast an impressive spell that apparently sent the thing to their eventual destination, as it vanished from sight. Potter stepped close and took Draco's elbow. After a quick Apparition, Draco opened his eyes and looked around.

"Welcome to Grimmauld Place," Potter said. They stood in a small, dark living room that had far too much dark wood and not enough lamps to dispel the gloom.

"Grim old place? You want me to live here?" Draco asked with an instinctive wrinkle of his nose.

Potter tugged at his forelock. "I'm sort of hoping you'll fix it up."

"You want me to redecorate?"

"I want you to make it yours," Potter countered.

Draco was not certain how to respond to that, so he simply allowed Potter to lead him through the place on a tour. It was enormous, but not at all impressive. The house was also bizarrely familiar, like a dim memory Draco could not-quite recall.

"Where did you find this place, Potter? I hope you didn't pay a ridiculous amount for it."

"I inherited it, actually. From Sirius Black. He was my godfather."

Draco drew in a shocked breath and Potter nodded.

"Yeah, if things had been different… well, you might have ended up with this place instead of me." The Auror shrugged. "I sort of feel like you have more claim to it than I do. I mean, your relatives actually lived here. Your mum probably grew up in this house."

This was the Black family residence? Draco tried to suppress his horror at the thought of his mother growing up in such dingy, depressing surroundings. It was no wonder Bellatrix had turned out to be a mental case and Andromeda had married a Muggle. The place was bound to unhinge them. His mother had been the only one to escape the madness, apparently.

"It's horrific, Potter."

The Auror nodded and grinned. "Isn't it, though? It's also yours. I signed the deed over to you this morning. I much prefer my flat near the Ministry. Frankly, I haven't been here in months, but I thought you might want a change of scenery. It's much roomier than your tiny place and this way I'll…"

"Always know where I am?" Draco finished.

"Um… something like that." Potter strode to the nearest window and yanked the heavy curtains open. A cloud of dust billowed up and the movement succeeded only in exposing a small window so covered with accumulated grime that nothing was visible beyond the glass. "There used to be a house-elf, but he died two years ago. He was… fairly useless, anyway. I can probably ask Winky to come from Hogwarts and help you out. She doesn't like me much and she's a bit of a mess since she was freed… but she might like it here better than Hogwarts. The other house-elves don't seem to care for her."

"Whatever you think is best, Potter," Draco said, although the thought of attempting to even clean the bloody place alone was daunting.

"Harry," Potter corrected. "I'll send for her this afternoon. Let me show you the bedrooms."

There were eight altogether, most of them so small they were barely more than cupboards, but three of them were large enough to warrant separate sitting rooms and bathing facilities. Draco avoided choosing the master suite, suddenly remembering his grandmother Black. He had been in this house once as a small child (the elusive memory finally reappeared) and the vague memory was terrifying. The thought of sleeping in the same room with the shade of that woman was sobering. Instead he chose a corner room with a large window seat that looked out on a tiny Muggle garden—or it would once the windows had been scrubbed.

"I replaced all of the bedding in the house, since I wasn't sure what room you would choose," Potter said, lurking in the doorway as Draco examined the wardrobe. It was serviceable enough, for an ancient relic. He looked at Potter, who grinned at him. His pose was causal enough, but Draco sensed his nervousness. He was surprised Potter had not begun to babble—it seemed to be one of his defence mechanisms. "So, um… are you hungry?" Potter asked, likely in preparation to start an endless flow of words.

"Only for you," Draco said quietly, primarily to witness Potter's reaction, but also because—fuck it all—it was true. Potter straightened from the door, green eyes going huge. He strode forwards and wrapped his arms around Draco, remembering at the last moment to deflect his lips to Draco's cheek and then slide them down to his usual place—latching onto Draco's neck. Draco relaxed with a sigh, already feeling the strain of the last few days dissipating. It was interesting how quickly his body had become accustomed to Potter's touch, and how rapidly it had become a craving.

"I was going to wait until you were settled," Potter said even as his hands moved to caress Draco's cashmere. Draco felt it tug free of his waistband and then Potter's hot hands were on the bare flesh of his back, stroking in that wonderfully reverent way of his.

"I'm settled," Draco replied. "Or I will be as soon as we break in that bed over there."

They quick-stepped to the bed in what was nearly a dance, shedding clothing as they moved. Draco fairly pounced on Potter's body, kissing every bit of flesh he could reach while stroking Potter's lovely cock. Potter arched into Draco's touch, his body responding beautifully to Draco's movements as though he really was the professional he pretended to be. Potter tried to reciprocate, but Draco was having none of it. Potter had paid a ridiculous sum for his services and he would make damned certain he got his money's worth.

He trapped both of Potter's wrists against his hips, preventing him from grabbing at Draco's cock. "I want to touch you," Potter said in a voice that carried a hint of a whine.

"Later," Draco replied. "Right now it's my turn."

He released Potter's hands and moved downwards to lick a stripe up the centre of Potter's rigid cock. He sucked the liquid from the tip and smiled at Potter's twisting response. It would not be long. Apparently Potter had touched no one during their brief separation. Draco wondered if he had even wanked. He vowed to ask him later, at some inopportune time, just to watch the colour flood into his cheeks. The thought of it made Draco glance up, to see Potter's head thrown back. A lovely flush tinted not only his cheeks, but also his entire torso. The fingers of one hand were clenched in the material of the bedspread—the other touched Draco's hair so lightly he could barely feel it, as though Potter was afraid to urge Draco onward.

Draco took him deeper despite the lack of direction—or perhaps because of it. He licked and sucked at Potter eagerly, mildly surprised at how satisfying it was to suck the cock of the glorious hero. The sounds Potter made should have been illegal. His breathy whimpering of Draco's name nearly had him coming without being touched. Draco almost reached down to bring himself off, but the knowledge that he wanted Potter to do it— _Harry_ to do it—stopped him.

Potter's cries warned him, as well as the tensing of Potter's thigh muscles over his shoulders. Draco drew back as Potter's orgasm swept over him, convulsing flesh and ejecting a spray of white over the Auror's flat abdomen. _And just like that_ , Draco thought, _the Hero of the World is undone. Because of me._

He allowed a smirk to curve his lips, but it turned into a genuine smile when green eyes met his and Potter laughed. "Slytherin devil," he growled and tightened his grip on Draco's hair. "Come here, you."

Potter tugged and Draco followed the insistent motion, undulating forward until he lay flat upon Potter, who was not quite as finished as he seemed. He rolled Draco over and rested on his chest, smearing ejaculate between them in a cool mess. Draco found he didn't mind in the least.

"Whose turn now, Draco?" he growled and then levered himself down quickly to take Draco's length into the molten heat of his mouth. Draco tried to hold out against the onslaught of Potter's determination and shocking talent, but soon enough he was screaming and pouring himself down the throat of the man who owned him.

 _For six months_ , he reminded himself. _Only six months._

As Potter sprawled next to him with a satisfied smile and Draco memorized the exact shade of his eyes, he pushed away a foolish, wayward thought.

_I should be paying him._

ooOooOooOoo

Harry awakened when it was still dark to find Draco gone. He sat up and fumbled for his glasses, feeling slightly panicked. His fingers encountered a slip of parchment and he pulled on his spectacles and cast a _Lumos_ in order to read it.

_Have a nice Sunday. See you tomorrow._

He sagged back into the pillows, both relieved and disappointed. Sundays were Draco's. Harry wondered where he had gone and tried to crush a flare of jealousy when he hoped Draco had not gone to visit another lover.

He puttered around the house for a while and finally took himself to Hogwarts to procure the services of Winky. Grimmauld Place was far too large for Draco to try and care for himself, even though he had apparently learned to cook and clean during his tenure of self-employment. Winky's drinking problem had escalated after Dobby's death and Harry vaguely wondered if she would be of any use at all, but he decided she could hardly be worse than Kreacher had been before his demise. Even if she only cleaned Draco's room and the kitchen, it would be better than nothing. It took Harry nearly two hours to escape Hogwarts when both teachers and students came out of the woodwork to greet him.  It was nice to see some of them again.

He finally returned to Grimmauld Place and set Winky to cleaning the front hall, taking care not to disturb the curtains that still surrounded the painting of Mrs Black. Then again, opening the curtains was a more difficult task now that Harry had nailed them to the wall and pinned them together in the centre.

He debated returning to his flat, but decided to cook dinner at Grimmauld Place. He was surprised when Draco reappeared shortly after dark, and Draco seemed almost as amazed to see him. He leaned against the doorway of the kitchen and it took Harry a moment to notice him. He wondered how long Draco had been watching him and found himself blushing slightly.

"Are you hungry?" Harry asked.

Draco shook his head. "I ate at Mother's. But I wouldn't mind pudding, if you have it."

Harry smiled and thanked Merlin that he had prepared for that eventuality, at least. He had stopped in Hogsmeade before returning home and picked up a selection of sweets at Honeydukes. He pulled a plate of iced cakes from the chiller and Levitated them to the table. Draco immediately sat in a chair and dragged the plate to rest in front of him. He picked up a confection iced in gold frosting that sported tiny ferns.

"Did you buy some for yourself?" Draco asked and took a bite.

Harry shook his head. "Not really."

Draco grinned at him, showing gold teeth for a moment, and then turned his attention to the treats, ignoring Harry while he ate.

 _Mother's_ , Harry thought. _Thank Merlin._

_ooo  
_

Harry was shockingly, blissfully, ludicrously happy. He had spent every spare minute of the past week fucking Draco into the mattress of several of the beds in Grimmauld Place, as well as a couple of sofas and the kitchen table. He should have been exhausted and definitely sexually spent, but the mere recollection of Draco spread out on the table with his silver hair shining on the dark wood as he cried Harry's name... Bloody hell, he was getting hard again. It should have been impossible.

"All right, who is it?" Hermione asked.

Harry shook off his reverie and pressed the heel of his hand into his growing hardness, trying to stave off a full-blown erection. "Pardon?" he asked, glad that the tablecloth covered the movement.

"Who has you daydreaming with that pornographic smile on your face?" she asked.

At the word _pornographic_ , Ron perked up, yanked away from the Wizarding Wireless coverage of a Welsh Quidditch match by the promise of smut. "Eh? What was that?"

"Harry seems to have a new romance," Hermione said and placed a trencher of green curry before him.

Ron stared at him. "You do? Who is she?"

Harry looked away and dug into his food eagerly, which only caused Ron's gaze to sharpen. Hermione was a horrendous cook. Thankfully, the excessive heat of the curry drowned most of the flavour and he and Ron were accustomed to her lack of ability after years of Friday night meals. They were quite good at pretending to enjoy it, especially Ron, whose taste buds were most likely eradicated by now, anyway.

"Dunno what you're talking abou'," Harry mumbled through a mouthful. He quickly washed it down with a gulp of hot tea.

Hermione rolled her eyes. "Fine. Don't tell us, Mr Secretive. We'll find out soon enough. You can't keep her hidden forever."

Harry pretended to be interested in the green bits that swam in the brownish sauce. He didn't need to keep Draco secret forever, only for the next six months. By then, he would certainly be tired of him. Surely by then he could let Draco go without regret.

He tried not to bolt his food, but the thought of Draco waiting for him was enough to make him fairly squirm with impatience. He declined dessert, ignoring Hermione's knowing smirk, and Apparated back to Grimmauld Place to find Draco seated in a plush armchair calmly reading the Daily Prophet. He wore nothing but an unbuttoned blue linen shirt.

He didn't make it out of the chair for quite some time.

ooOooOooOoo

Living with Harry was surprisingly easy. Draco was shocked at how quickly they moved into a routine. In the morning, Harry rose and groggily readied himself for work, dressing atrociously and failing to do anything at all with his horrible mat of hair. He would kiss Draco on the cheek and Disapparate. Draco would sleep until nearly noon and then crawl downstairs to eat the breakfast Winky had prepared for him. After that he would wander around the nasty old place and catalogue items that needed changing—which had grown into a scroll nearly six feet long.

After a few hours of that, Draco would take a leisurely bath and then read a book or take a nap. His wand would sound an alarm one hour before Harry was due to arrive home, so Draco would quickly prepare himself. He was having more fun than he would admit trying to find outfits that would appeal to the Golden Auror. Harry seemed unimpressed by the leather trousers and shimmery silver mesh shirt, but his eyes had fairly _gleamed_ when Draco had appeared clad in Muggle jeans and one of Harry's t-shirts. Draco had been lucky to make it out of the foyer and onto the living room couch before being pounced on and nearly devoured.

Truthfully, it didn't really seem to matter what Draco wore. The fact that he was waiting by the door each night when Harry arrived home seemed to please him like nothing else. Harry would sigh a bit, as though relieved to see Draco, drop whatever he happened to be carrying, and step forwards to wrap Draco in a warm embrace. The embracing had taken a few days to get used to. It was nothing like the prelude to sex that Draco was familiar with. Instead, Harry actually clung to Draco for long minutes and did nothing but hold him and breathe into his hair, as though the very act of clinging to Draco somehow renewed his lifeblood.

Draco stood passively and allowed himself to be held, every so often patting gently at Harry's ribs in an effort to be released. After the third day, Draco began to feel that the hugging renewed him, as well. It was a disturbing thought.

Often they would not make it until dinner without some sort of sexual encounter, usually instigated by Draco, who either dressed to entice Harry or ate suggestively, or simply touched Harry until he couldn't stand it any longer and took Draco against the nearest object, be it sofa or chair or wall. At night they shared the bed in Draco's room, which was rapidly becoming _their_ room, because Harry never slept anywhere else. If he returned to his flat at all, it was in between trips to the Ministry and back, because he stayed wrapped around Draco every night.

Draco was thankful for Sundays, because he could escape Harry's overwhelming presence. Visits to his mother renewed his sense of self and reminded him that he only tolerated Harry's—Potter's—presence because he had a larger goal in mind. Self-reliance. Without the necessity of paying rent and other expenses, the funds in Draco's bank account began to grow.

ooOooOooOoo

Harry came home the several days later to find the living room completely changed. He frowned for a moment at the realisation that in the past few days Grimmauld Place had become _home_ while his flat in London had become... empty. He had not been back since installing Draco at Grimmauld Place.

Draco noticed his frown and quickly produced a piece of parchment. "Here is an accounting of everything I purchased. You did tell me I could make the place my own and I kept the furniture that was here. The majority of the expense was in the upholstery—it had to be replaced because it was in simply dreadful condition. An army of house-elves would not have been able to extract the dust. And thank you for Winky, by the way. She does an admirable job of cleaning, although she hasn't got to the windows yet because this room alone took her half the day. She started on the kitchen whilst I redecorated." There was a pause. "Say something, Harry."

Harry smiled. He could not remember Draco speaking more than a few words at a time since their first meeting, so the babble was almost enchanting. _Not adorable_ , he told himself sternly and forced his eyes to the paper in his hand before taking in the room once more. Draco had spent a mere handful of Galleons and the room was spectacular. He barely recognized it. Gone were the wood-panelled walls and morbidly dark carpeting, replaced with a clean, pale wall colour and bleached-wood floors. The furnishings were the same dark wood, but the new coverings were light and airy, grouped in a way that was inviting rather than forbidding. Fresh flowers adorned a table near the bay window, framed by new curtains.

"It's amazing," Harry said and tossed the receipt on a nearby table. Draco nearly sagged in visible relief before remembering himself and straightening proudly. Harry gathered him in a tight embrace before pressing soft kisses into his neck. "I can hardly wait to see what you do with the rest of the place."

ooOooOooOoo

Draco was more relieved than he let on. He had been quite frugal with Harry's funds, aware that he had already spent a ludicrous amount on Draco's fee alone. Draco thought the results were impressive, but seeing Harry's approval made him feel oddly pleased. Draco suspected that his stay in the former Black residence was only temporary, despite Harry's foolish proclamation that he was _giving_ the house to him, so he had swayed his choices towards items and colours that would please Harry rather than his own sensibilities.

The past few days had been surprising. Draco thought he might grow bored with nothing to do and no clientele to manipulate, but the remodelling of Grimmauld Place had been a fascinating challenge. Draco sometimes looked forward to Harry leaving in the morning so that he could begin working. Oddly enough, he also anticipated Harry's return in the evening. Draco had thought they would have nothing in common other than physical attraction, but in that he had been mistaken.

Their sexual relationship stayed molten and Harry could seldom keep his hands from Draco, especially when he arrived home at night. After the expected embrace, he would often turn amorous. Draco was surprised by the fact that they were more compatible than he ever would have guessed. After a physical encounter, they would retire to the living room or the study or the bedroom, depending on Harry's mood. Often Harry would talk about his day and Draco would massage his shoulders and pretend to listen—except that he found himself actually listening, and occasionally making suggestions. One evening they played an entire game of chess—which Draco won—before retiring to bed. Once there, Harry was always the same, ardent but gentle, even when his urgency was obvious.

Draco melted into Harry's touch and felt even white teeth graze the skin of his neck. Draco found it far too easy to play the whore, since it was never one-sided. Harry always gave as well as he took, and sometimes even gave without taking. Draco thought back to the morning when he was awakened from a sound sleep by Harry sucking his cock-and wasn't that the best way ever to wake up?

Draco often found himself daydreaming about Harry whilst he was away at work, and anticipating his return with an eagerness that threatened to make him physically ill. He didn't miss Harry, after all. He merely wanted a decent shag. He was a man, wasn't he? It was perfectly normal to want frequent sex.

Draco cast a Tempus Charm for the seventh time. _Where the hell was he?_


	7. Chapter 7

Harry tiptoed into the bedroom, trying not to wake Draco. He was bone tired and it took him several tries to unbutton his Auror robes and shrug them off. He did not even bother to throw them over a nearby chair. Winky would deal with them.

He slipped into the bed covers and draped an arm around Draco, only to find him stiff as a board and obviously awake.

"Hey," Harry said quietly.

"Hey," Draco snapped. "What a lovely greeting."

"I thought you were asleep."

"Asleep. What a concept, when I've been awake for _hours_ wondering where the fuck you were, not knowing if you were alive or dead, or lying in a bloody ditch somewhere!" Draco jerked away from Harry and moved far across the bed, too far for Harry to reach, likely perching on the very edge.

"I… I wanted to send you a message."

"I'm certain you did, Potter. You likely tried very hard. Why bother? I'm just your whore, after all. You don't owe me anything. You can stay out as long as you like. You can go out and fuck whomever you please. I don't care in the slightest."

For all that Draco's tone was flippant, Harry could hear the anguish beneath the words, although the very idea was astonishing. Could it be true that Draco actually _cared_?

"I'm sorry," Harry assured him. "I was sent on an unexpected stakeout. It was only supposed to take a couple of hours, but the bloody man wouldn't move! It grew later and later and I wasn't allowed to send a Patronus—it would have tipped off Rogers in an instant. Of course there were no owls. I didn't know how to reach you!"

"Whatever, Potter," Draco snarled.

Harry moved across the bed and put his arm around Draco to draw him back against him, feeling a curious sense of elation that Draco might actually have been worried about him. "I'm sorry. I promise I'll make it up to you. What would you like?"

As he hoped, the promise of a boon swayed Draco, who slowly relaxed in his arms. "You were really on a case?"

"I swear it," Harry promised.

"And it was dangerous?"

"Very dangerous. I might have died."

Draco snorted, but Harry could practically feel the thaw beneath his skin. "Died. Really?" he asked dryly.

"It could happen!" Harry protested and Draco actually laughed.

He turned around and moved into Harry's embrace. "You said something about making it up to me?"

Harry smiled and held him tightly. At that moment he didn't care if it cost him every Galleon in his Gringott's account to buy Draco's forgiveness.

The next day he presented Draco with a small silver mirror, barely large enough to fit in his palm. It matched one that Harry kept.

"What is this?" Draco asked dubiously.

"You will be able to see me whenever you want," Harry said. "It doesn't allow two-way communication, but I will feel it warm in my pocket. When I pull it out, you will see me and I'll be able to show you where I am, in case I am late again."

Draco frowned. "It works both ways?" he asked.

"I won't use mine," Harry promised. "Unless you call me with yours. Besides, you can always ignore it."

Draco scowled. "You are an idiot. What if this falls into the wrong hands?"

"I trust you," Harry said simply.

Draco glared at him and then rolled his eyes as he muttered "idiot" once more, but he tucked the mirror away and Harry thought he saw a softening of Draco's beautiful features. Harry grinned wickedly and Draco sniffed. "Oh, you think a stupid present and some nice words will sway me into letting you shag me, is that it?"

"Yes," Harry said hopefully.

"You'll have to try harder than that," Draco advised.

Harry rounded the table and pulled Draco into his arms before shoving him up against the nearest immobile object, which happened to be a mahogany credenza. Several dishes on its top rattled in protest. "Is this hard enough for you?" he asked as he pressed his erection into Draco's groin.

"It's a start," Draco said breathily and reached for him.

ooOooOooOoo

Draco smiled at his mother, who looked better than she had in years. Draco suspected she had found a new man in Paris, although she had not mentioned anyone by name. There was something in her manner that was telling, a confidence she had lost during the darkness of the past few years. Draco had never thought to see it return and for that he was almost ridiculously thankful to Harry, even though he would never mention it, of course. It was ironic, really, that the Chosen One saved people even when he tried to be selfish.

"Something has happened to you, Draco," his mother said suddenly.

He smiled at her warily. "What do you mean?"

"You seem… better now. I haven't seen you so relaxed in months and you look amazing. I feared for your health, but now…"

Draco nearly laughed. _She_ had been worried about _him_? What a pair they were. Draco shrugged. "I do feel better now. And yes, something has happened, but I'm not quite ready to talk about it."

"Not even to your mother?"

"Are you ready to tell me your secret?" he countered. If she had been the blushing type, Draco swore she would have, but instead she merely picked up her water glass and took a drink. He chuckled. "I thought not."

"I might have met someone," she admitted.

Draco ignored the stab of fear he felt at her words. It was one thing to suspect, but quite another to know that a potential predator was stalking his mother. He frowned. "You will be careful?"

"Draco," she admonished. "I am not completely helpless and I am not stupid."

Oddly, the fire in her words made him feel more at ease, and strangely proud. He remembered how she had been before the war—no one would have dared to cross her. Perhaps she had not changed all that much, after all. He snorted anyway, refusing to concede.

"What about you? You won't get hurt, will you?" she asked quietly.

Draco mimicked her action by taking a drink from his own glass. He thought about Harry and the blood seemed to quicken in his veins. It had only been six weeks, but the thought of eventually leaving Grimmauld Place made his stomach clench. Hurt? Oh yes, Draco could almost guarantee that he would be hurt. He would just have to locate the strength to withstand it; after all, it wouldn't be the first time.

"I'll be fine, Mother."

"We both will, Draco."

For the first time, he actually believed it.

ooOooOooOoo

Harry could tell Draco was getting restless. The house was nearly finished and it looked incredible, but Draco's only excursions outside were his limited shopping trips and his visits to Narcissa. Sometimes Harry wondered what had happened to Draco's friends—Pansy Parkinson, Blaise Zabini, and Gregory Goyle. Draco never mentioned them and never seemed to spend any time with them. Harry still spent Friday evenings with Ron and Hermione, although lately he had been struck by the bizarre urge to bring Draco along. Only the knowledge that all three of them would be against it stayed Harry from bringing it up. Hermione might be understanding. Ron and Draco, never.

Draco sighed, looking out at the bedraggled Muggle garden. Harry smiled. "Shouldn't you be getting dressed?"

Draco turned and glared at him. "Dressed? Usually you are trying to get me _un_ dressed."

"I'll save that for later and thank you for giving me something to look forward to," Harry replied. He furrowed his brow. "Did I not mention that I'm taking you to dinner tonight?"

Silver eyes flashed. "No, you did not."

Harry tugged at his forelock. "I could swear I did. Silly me. If you would rather not go…"

"I didn't say that," Draco said quickly. "Where are we going?"

"Scotland."

Draco sneered. "Scotland? Are you taking me to some pub where they serve mutton sandwiches? Shall I wear a kilt?"

The thought of Draco in a kilt definitely did not have the effect Draco likely intended. Harry's mouth went dry. "Probably not, but will you wear one when we get back?"

Draco blushed, much to Harry's delight. "You are a pervert, Potter."

"Only for ye, darlin'," Harry said with a bad Scottish accent. Draco sent a mild Stinging Hex his way. "Watch it, you, or I'll leave you here and hook up with some fit Scottish bloke."

Draco wrinkled his nose. "They all smell of sheep, those Scots. You'd be crawling back here before the night was up, begging me to take you back."

Harry was ready to start begging now. "Just get dressed. And no, it's not a lowly pub. It's fancy enough for you."

"We'll see," Draco said snobbishly, but he went out, calling behind him, "You're not wearing _that_ , are you?"

Harry laughed, because Draco said those words nearly every time Harry tried to leave the house, no matter what he wore.

Draco looked stunning, as usual, when he finally appeared in robes that seemed white at first glance. It was only when he moved closer that the colour was evident-a pale blue-grey that resembled a waterfall by the way it moved with the light. Harry had taken extra time with his own clothing, even though he knew he would never measure up to the effortless elegance of his escort.

Harry tugged at the collar of his wine-coloured dress robes, thinking the salesgirl at the shop must have been myopic when she had suggested the colour for him. He should have stayed with something that looked mildly decent, like black.

For once, however, Draco made no disparaging remarks when he looked Harry up and down. For a moment, Harry even felt like a canapé, especially when Draco purred, "Very nice, Harry." He wondered how important a night out could be when weighed against the option of having spectacular sex in the foyer.

The fact that Draco's stunning good looks deserved an audience cooled Harry's libido, at least long enough for him to offer Draco his arm. "Shall we?"

The restaurant in Edinburgh was set atop the Museum of Scotland and featured a spectacular view of the city. Draco said nothing, which meant Harry had managed to impress him somewhat, especially after they were seated in a semi-private area with a lovely view and comfortable leather seats.

Harry ordered a bottle of wine, trying to appear suave. In truth, he had practically memorized the restaurant's wine list over the past week, which included extensive research into what made a decent bottle of wine and what would be considered shite by the patrician blond. Draco smirked at him in amusement, causing Harry to flush, but he was silent, giving Harry mute approval of his selection. Harry breathed a sigh of relief. So far, so good.

Dinner was spectacular, from the seared pigeon breast and cauliflower soup to the butternut and pancetta risotto. "It's nice," Draco admitted and Harry beamed at what amounted to high praise, coming from him.

Draco ordered caramel-poached pears with praline mousse for dessert while Harry settled on a light mango custard with strawberries. He set his spoon aside after eating half the dessert. He looked across the table and dredged up his courage. "Draco, I want to ask you something."

Draco's expression turned positively panicked for a moment, until he schooled his features back into his usual _laissez-faire_ mask. Harry knew him well enough by now that he could see the tension in the set of his jaw and the barely perceptible movement of Draco's fingers upon the tablecloth. "You do not need my permission to ask a question," he said blandly.

Harry smiled and reached across the table to touch the long fingers, tightening his grip when Draco tried to pull away. Harry refused to let go until Draco relaxed, and then he merely loosed his hold and made tiny circles on the back of Draco's hand with his thumb.

"All right," Harry said. "Here it is. The Ministry is having a gala of some sort--I can't recall the bloody occasion. Anyway, it's one of those things where everyone has to dress up and mingle and pretend to have a good time. And dance. That sort of thing."

Draco's mask became even more unreadable. "Who do you plan to take to this... thing, Potter?"

Harry nearly winced. Draco only called him _Potter_ these days when he was upset or being sarcastic.

"Is it the Weasley bint? I know she's never got over you. Does she join you on your Friday evening meals when you desert me each week? I've often wondered. Do you plan to get back together with her?"

Harry blinked at him, completely thrown by the question. Ginny? Harry hadn't seen her in... how long? Months, surely. Did Draco not know Ginny had moved to Wales? And why did his tone sound so bitter?

"No. No, Draco, of course not. Ginny is... well, it's you, actually. I want to take you. Will you be my date?"

Draco stared at him for so long that Harry began to fear he had been turned to stone. He glanced around to see who might have cast a hex. Finally, Draco shook off his stasis. "You've gone completely mad. What happened? Imperius Curse? Ex-Death Eater finally caught up with you?"

Harry forced a smile. "No. You see, it's a masquerade."

Draco massaged his temple with the hand not trapped by Harry. "Potter. I don't care if it's a masquerade. I don't care if everyone comes dressed as pumpkins. Everyone will know it's you. It will be blatantly obvious. And you're still a male. You're the Super Auror. The Hero. The Chosen One. The Slayer of Voldemort does not attend public functions in the company of a _man_."

Harry set his jaw adamantly. "He does now."

Draco gaped at him. "Are you seriously telling me you plan to expose your... preferences at such a public setting?"

Harry nodded.

" _Why_?" Draco demanded. "You'll be eviscerated!"

Harry shrugged. "I'll be eviscerated, anyway. At least this way it will be over in one fell swoop. Completely public."

"It will not be over in one fell swoop. It will never be over. You will be hounded eternally."

"Are you saying you won't come with me?"

"What if I'm recognized? It's bad enough that you plan to expose yourself—in a manner of speaking—but with a former Death Eater? You'll be worse than eviscerated. You'll be a pariah."

Harry smiled at the very idea of the wizarding world turning its back on him just because he preferred blokes. He had saved them all from years, possibly decades, of bloody war and even worse things. The least they could do was allow him to live his life as he saw fit. And if they did declare him outcast… What of it? Harry could live among Muggles, if necessary.

He wrinkled his nose at the thought and Draco heaved a sigh. "Thank Merlin, you've reconsidered. Go find some willing girl and have her escort you. Just not that Weasley bint, if you don't mind. That red hair and those spots would clash horribly with the Gryffindor-coloured dress robes you no doubt plan to purchase."

"I've not reconsidered. My mind is made up about this, Draco. If you won't come with me, I'll… I'll just ask some other bloke."

Draco's glare could have frozen the custard. "What other bloke?" he gritted.

"I don't know!" Harry said. "I'm certain there is someone out there willing to—"

"Willing to be gay for the Great Potter?" Draco sneered.

Harry threw his napkin on the table and got to his feet. "Never mind," he growled. "I suppose it was a stupid idea."

The waiter was instantly at Harry's side, concerned. Harry assured him that the food and service had been spectacular. He paid and left a generous tip before stalking outside to await Draco in the area reserved for Apparition. The Tower was a Muggle restaurant as well as a wizarding one. Heavy Disillusionment Charms prevented the Muggles from seeing anything out of the ordinary, but appearing and disappearing needed to be kept under concealment.

Draco joined him after a moment and Harry took his arm and Disapparated them home. Once there, Harry marched upstairs to change his clothes. He should have expected Draco's reaction. In actuality, everything Draco had said made perfect sense and it had to have been quite a shock to him. Harry had been thinking about it for days, so he'd had time to adjust.

He hung his clothing in the wardrobe and paused with his hand on the wooden door. Draco had replaced much of the furniture in the room. The entire house had benefited from his presence. Hell, Harry's entire life had changed because of Draco. He had no right to ask more of him than he… had paid for. Harry's shoulders sagged. Sometimes he forgot that their relationship was nothing more than that of rentboy and client. At times it seemed like so much more.

He felt Draco enter the room and then heard him approach. A pale hand reached out and touched Harry's shoulder. He gave in to the pressure and turned to face Draco, who put his fingers beneath Harry's chin and tilted his head until their eyes met. Draco sighed. "If it's that important to you, I'll come."

Harry tried to breathe normally. "You will?"

Draco nodded. "But I had better have a damned good costume. I refuse to be labelled as the cause of your unnatural predilection."

"It's not unnatural!" Harry protested.

" _They_ will say it is. And they will blame me."

"Well, I don't care what they say." Harry was adamant. "But you're right. I won't bring anything down on your head. You've been through enough."

Draco was still for a moment. "You sound as if you believe that."

"Of course I believe it!"

Draco enfolded Harry in a sudden embrace and Harry couldn't help it, he melted, resting his chin on Draco's shoulder and holding him tightly. The bloody Ministry and the rest of the damned world seemed far away and unimportant.

"Merlin, what am I going to do with you?" Draco muttered.

"I can think of a few things," Harry quipped.

Draco sighed and pulled him towards the bed where he thought of quite a few things on his own.


	8. Chapter 8

Draco looked at his reflection and shoved down about a thousand misgivings. He had to be completely insane to go through with this. How the hell had he allowed Harry's puppydog eyes and temper tantrum to sway him into such a stupid decision? He wondered if there was still time to purchase some Weasley product that induced vomiting, chills, and fever.

Harry entered the room and the very sight of him made Draco forget the wayward idea. Harry was stunning. He was dressed as Uther Pendragon, with a red tunic emblazoned with the lion of England in glittering gold. He wore black beneath, which covered him from neck to wrists. The open neck of the tunic exposed the shimmer of chain link above the black. A golden crown set with jewels adorned the top of his head and he would have looked every inch the monarch but for the fact that he currently struggled to fasten the red cape around his neck with a lion's-head brooch. He frowned and yanked at the fabric.

"Bloody thing," he muttered, still walking forward absently. His knee-high black boots gleamed. "How does this work?"

"Let me," Draco said, walking over and brushing Harry's hands aside. The green eyes fastened on his and Draco laughed at the sight of his spectacles. They looked incongruous with the period costume.

"Do I look like an idiot?" Harry asked dryly.

"You look like a king," Draco said as he fastened the brooch on Harry's collar and adjusted the cowl. "A very shaggable king," he added.

"If you look anything like Tor Bloodhorn, I know why Uther had no self control," Harry replied.

Draco smiled down at him, although it was odd to look down upon Harry when they were normally of a height. It had been Harry's suggestion that they both dress as Muggles, although as part of a story that was curiously absent from Muggle history. In the wizarding world, Merlin was even more famous than in Muggle legend, but Uther nearly so. Even though Uther Pendragon had married and sired the illustrious Arthur, it was rumoured that he had saved his kingdom from repeated sacking from the Vikings by carrying on a long-term affair with a prominent Viking chieftain named Tor Bloodhorn.

To that end, Draco wore buff leather leggings and a wolf-fur tunic. His boots had been magically lifted to gain him extra height and he towered several inches over Harry. They were cross-gartered around his calves and he had spent several hours adjusting to them in order to walk properly without tripping.

Draco had decided against a wig, but had instead darkened his own hair to a dirty blond and lengthened it in order to braid multicoloured leather thongs through it, with decorative bits of bead and bone. Atop his head rested an uncomfortable Viking helmet topped with sharp white horns.  Draco had argued with Harry that real Vikings had never worn horns on their helmets, but Harry had insisted the costume shops didn't care and he thought they looked _cool_.

"I don't think Uther wore spectacles," Draco said.

Harry grinned. "They'll be covered by my mask, prat." He brandished his wand and Summoned his mask from the bedside table. It looked relatively kinglike, draped with chain links and shimmering with jewels. Harry plunked it on over his glasses and Draco sighed. He had been right. Everyone there would recognize that impossible thatch of black hair, as well as Harry's unmistakable aura of heroism. The Uther personae was perfect for him.

Draco turned back to the mirror and tugged down his own mask, which was an extension of the helmet. He studied his image critically and had to admit that he was nearly unrecognizable. His features were almost completely covered by the fur-edged mask and helmet, as well as the thick braids that spilled over his shoulders and down to the wide belt that cinched his waist. He had strapped a hefty axe to the leather binding.

Harry's belt was black leather encrusted with gems and held a sword in a decorative scabbard. Draco had suggested he go to Hogwarts and borrow Godric Gryffindor's famous blade and had to laugh when Harry actually considered it.

"You look beautiful," Harry said and slipped his arms around Draco's waist. His eyes peered over Draco's shoulder, accenting their new height difference.

"I do not!" Draco protested. "I look manly! And dangerous and barbaric."

Harry laughed. "Yes, that too."

"Watch your tongue, Briton, or I shall rape and pillage you."

"You're just trying to get me to cancel this affair and stay home and shag you."

Draco put his hands over Harry's and leaned back into him. "Is it working?" he purred.

"Nearly," Harry said. "And I plan to hold you to that raping and pillaging idea when we get back."

Draco frowned uncertainly. "Are you sure no one will recognize me?" he asked for the seventeenth time.

  
Harry's arms tightened. "If they do, then we will deal with it, all right?"

Draco sighed and squeezed Harry's hands. "All right," he said even though he felt far from it. After one last perusal of their outfits, Harry took Draco's arm and they departed for the Ministry.

ooo

Draco was extremely tense when they first arrived at the Ministry. The Atrium had been taken over for the gala event, which was to celebrate the anniversary of the Ministry of Magic, of all things. Like anyone cared when the bloody Ministry had been founded. It was basically an excuse to indulge the Ministry employees' need for strong drink. After being dragged around the room for several minutes, Draco began to relax. There were few people he recognized, thanks to the profusion of costumes. Kinglsey Shacklebolt was easy to spot, being dressed as a Moorish Sultan.

Most of the attendees seemed to be geriatric old men hobbling about with stylized canes and costumes that tried to recapture their youth. Draco saw one old fellow who could not have seen a day less than a hundred, dressed as Robin Hood. Draco had prodded Harry and the two of them had spent several long minutes searching for equally old Merry Men.

"Look, there's Maid Marion," Harry said and nudged him. Draco's gaze moved to a crone with a white powdered wig dressed in a period gown. Her ancient breasts had been pressed into overflowing from the top of the gown, riddled with wrinkles. Draco shuddered and bent to make a disparaging comment when he caught sight of red hair next to the old woman.

Bloody hell, it was Weasley. Draco knew damned well Harry had never mentioned their relationship… or business venture to Weasley. Or whatever it was they now had. But now he wondered if Harry had even disclosed his preferences to his closest friends. With a frisson of panic, Draco wondered why he had not thought to bring it up prior to this moment when the Weasel and… oh yes, there she was… Granger, bore down upon them.

"Harry!" Ron cried loudly, causing Draco to cringe. "Oi, I'd recognize that hair anywhere."

Weasley was dressed as a Roman Centurion, although the costume was obviously second-hand. The bristles on his helmet had seen better days and many of them were bent. The red cape around his shoulders was beginning to wear in spots. Apparently his fortunes had not improved much. The thought made Draco feel somewhat better.

"Hey, Ron," Harry said as Granger oozed her way between Draco and Harry in order to smother Harry in an embrace. She was dressed in period robes, probably meant to represent some famous witch that no one would ever recognize. Thankfully, Harry did not ask. "Hermione," he said and fought his way free of the bushy hair and excess of perfume. What was it with the Muggleborn and their obsession with cologne?

"I'm so glad you came, Harry! You look fabulous! You've been so mysterious about your date, now where is she?" Granger said and peered around carefully. Her eyes touched on Draco and then dismissed him until Harry stepped closer and wrapped an arm around Draco's waist.

"She's a he, actually," Harry said. "And he prefers to remain anonymous at this time, due to the hullaballoo that will doubtless arise the moment the press catches wind of that fact. I assume that wretched insect, Rita Skeeter, is here?"

For once—possibly the only time in her life—Granger was silent. She took in Draco with a sharper gaze while the Weasel gaped like a fish; his jaw opened and closed for long moments with no sound emitting.

"Harry," Granger said in a hushed tone. "Are you sure you want to—?"

Draco felt like nodding, except that to agree with Hermione Granger was so foreign to his nature that he felt extraordinarily conflicted. Regardless, it was too late. Those standing near enough to hear the exchange were apparently intelligent enough to put two and two together, or in the case of Harry and his date—one and one.

A buzz whispered through the room and grew markedly louder and more obvious. Before Draco could suggest taking evasive action, they were surrounded by a crowd of people, most of them bearing cameras or brandishing wands with Recording Spells activated.

"Harry Potter!" they cried and only the hand tightening on Draco's arm stayed him from fleeing.

Harry held up a hand and the noised lessened to a murmur. "I will issue a statement and answer personal question one time only, but not here where you are creating a danger to innocent bystanders. If you will follow me to the conference room…" Harry stood on tiptoe and pressed a kiss to Draco's cheek, a movement accompanied by dozens of flashbulbs blinding Draco momentarily. "I'll be back in a few moments, love. Hermione, if you'll stay with _Tor_ and guard him from the vultures, I'll explain everything, I promise."

She glared at him, but years of solidarity were, thankfully, well-ingrained and she nodded and stepped closer to Draco. Ron seemed yet unable to process the revelation, so Harry hooked an arm through Weasley's and dragged him through the babbling crowd. Most of the "vultures" followed the hero, but several stayed with Draco, taking pictures and asking invasive questions until Granger drew her wand and cast a vicious-looking circle of crackling energy that shoved everyone back several feet.

"We have nothing to say," she snapped. "If you want answers, go get them from Harry!"

Snarling, the greedy newsmongers and gossips slunk away, leaving Draco in relative peace. Several partygoers remained, either uncaring of the drama or merely having nothing more to do than whisper amongst themselves and cast curious glances in Draco's direction.

"So, Tor," Granger said. "How long have you known Harry?"

Draco smiled. "Perhaps you should take your own advice and ask your questions of the Chosen One."

Her gaze sharpened as she tried to penetrate his disguise. Draco wished he had thought to alter his voice. "I can't believe he never said anything," she muttered. "Did he think we wouldn't understand?"

Draco frowned, feeling the need to defend Harry, even though he was not completely clear why Harry had not taken his closest friends into his confidence regarding his sexual preferences.

"We see him every bloody week," she continued, "And yet he never said a word."

"How would he broach that subject?" Draco asked in annoyance. "'Please pass the gravy and, by the way, I prefer blokes.'"

Granger smiled. "I suppose you're right."

"Of course I'm right."

"And you?" she asked. "How do you feel about Harry? Is this some casual thing for you or is it something more serious?"

Draco refused to ask even himself those questions. "Once again, you'll have to talk to Harry about that. I tried to talk him out of this public revelation nonsense, but he refused to listen."

She nodded. "Yes, he does that." She sighed. "I suppose I shall have to wait and hear it from him, then. But I can warn you that if you should ever decide to hurt him…"

"He's a grown man, Granger," Draco snapped. "And a bloody Auror.  I believe he's more than capable of taking care of himself."

She glared at him and her lips thinned into a thin line. She studied him once more and her eyes widened slightly. Draco swore inwardly and wished he had not called her Granger.

" _Draco_?" she asked, barely audible.

"The name is Tor and I'll thank you to keep it at that for the duration of the evening," he said curtly.

She frowned and her eyes flicked to where Harry had disappeared. Worry lines wrinkled her forehead and Draco wanted to gnash his teeth. She would never let up on Harry now. Once Granger found out he was living with Harry, there would be no end to her henpecking. Draco was suddenly grateful he had maintained the rent on his flat—he had a feeling their six-month agreement was about to be cut short.

He only wished the knowledge didn't leave him with the taste of ashes in his mouth.

ooOooOooOoo

Harry rubbed his temples and then replaced his glasses. He grinned sheepishly at Ron in the mirror. His friend did not look amused. Ron's blue eyes glared at him.

"You never thought to bloody mention it?"

Harry shrugged. "I didn't really know. Not until recently. I mean, I suspected now and again, especially after we left school and my relationship with Ginny just… fizzled."

"Why recently? Is it that Viking bloke? Who is he?"

Harry nodded. "Yeah, it's the Viking bloke. I can't tell you who he is, at least not yet. I don't want him hurt by this. It was hard enough to convince him to come here with me tonight. I have to protect him."

"How do you know he wants protecting? How do you know he won't go straight to the press with every bloody sordid tale of…?"

"Tale of what, Ron?" Harry snapped. "Do you think we do anything different than any other couple? When we touch each other what makes it worse than a man touching a woman? Skin and lips and hands all feel the same when you're in—"  Harry broke off, unable to finish the sentence.

" _In_?" Ron said. "You're in? What are you in, Harry? Are you saying you're _in love_ with him?"

Harry snatched up his mask and fastened it over his glasses carefully, blocking out the question. He dared not ask it for fear of the answer.

"Of course not," he muttered flippantly. "He doesn't feel anything for me." Harry held up a hand quickly to forestall Ron's outburst. "But I trust him! Okay, I trust him not to do anything that will… Well, anything that will harm me." Even as he said the words he wondered why he believed them so vehemently. Since when had he trusted Draco Malfoy not to wish him ill? Was he so easily swayed by the way Draco said his name in the dark and the way his eyes glowed when he came?

Harry flushed at the memory and shook his head.  Draco had had plenty of opportunities to go to the press.  He could have done so after their first night together.  And now if Draco wanted to use Harry for his own ends—in a way other than the agreement they had already forged—then it was Harry's fault for being so blindly trusting. The very thought of Draco made him ache to get back to him. Harry should not have abandoned him for so long, especially in Hermione's care. She had most likely penetrated his disguise by now and Harry would be in for a ration of questions.

Harry checked his outfit once more—not that it was effective as a disguise any longer—and went out.

It took him forever to find Draco.

ooOooOooOoo

Draco ditched Granger when she was accosted by an ancient crone who apparently recognized her costume to be that of Artemisia Lufkin, the first female Minister for Magic—oh happy gasp!—most likely because she had been born during old Artemisia's tenure, which was sometime in the 1700's from what Draco could recall. Still, he was grateful for the interception because Draco had some pressing business to take care of and it was something he definitely did not need Hermione Granger to witness.

The 'pressing business' pressed him up against the wall of the darkened hallway, squashing pillowlike breasts into his abdomen.

"Draco," she purred. "I knew it was you." She laughed huskily. "Imagine. You disappear from the face of the planet for nearly five long years and now you turn up in the company of Harry Potter! And in a pretty little queer sort of relationship, no less."

"What do you want, Pansy?" Draco snapped even as he glanced around to ascertain their privacy. He cursed his luck. "How did you recognize me?"

"It was your walk, darling. No one moves like you do. It's disgraceful, actually, like sex on legs."

Draco grimaced. Damn her. What was she even doing at a bloody Ministry function? Draco had tried to maintain secretive tabs on all of his former friends, but the last he had heard of Pansy was that she had gone to Brazil.

"What are you doing with Potter? Is this just a game you're playing or is it something more serious? You don't seem averse to his company. Not at all."

Draco wanted to snarl that it was none of her business, but that would simply sharpen her need to make it her business. He could practically see the wheels turning in her Slytherin brain. She had gone to Brazil because the Parkinson funds were dwindling away at a rapid clip. Draco suspected she had gone to procure a rich husband. Apparently she had failed, if her look of avarice was any indication. She definitely planned to turn her discovery into a wagonload of Galleons. And Harry would pay it to protect him. Draco knew it without question.

"If you plan to blackmail Potter, you're too late. He just gave a tell-all to the press."

She smiled and trailed her fingers over his chest. "Did he really? Did he tell _all_ , Draco, or did he leave out one tiny little fact? Why are you hiding behind your costume, darling? Is Potter afraid of what people will think if they find out he's shagging a Death Eater? It must have been hard enough for the poor dear to expose himself without that. The press and the public, they can be so vicious."

Draco smiled without humour. "Pansy, you are forgetting one tiny little thing," he said as though he spoke to a child.

She was nearly quick enough. Her hands shoved at him even as she reached for the wand in her sleeve, but Draco was faster. " _Modificus_!" he hissed.

Pansy's eyes glazed immediately and she stiffened like a doll. Someone laughed nearby and Draco nearly panicked, but he forced himself to relax and take his time. He drew Pansy back against him as though they had paused in the alcove for a snog. He only hoped the tale of him kissing a woman after escorting the famous Potter to the event did not circulate like wildfire. A couple staggered by, giggling drunkenly, but did not seem to look in Draco's direction. He heaved a sigh of relief.

He was quick but thorough. By the time he stepped from the alcove—and straight into Harry—Pansy was shaking off her daze.

"What's this, then?" Harry asked tightly.

"Poor dear had too much to drink," Draco said in a sympathetic tone. "I think she's going home now."

Pansy giggled as she walked past them. "King Arthur, how adorable," she cooed and patted Harry's cheek. His shocked gaze snapped upwards, obviously recognizing Pansy through her Cleopatra getup.

"Run along dear," Draco urged and Pansy giggled once more and disappeared, weaving towards one of the large fireplaces. Draco watched her until she Flooed out of sight and then he turned to face Harry's angry expression.

"What exactly were you doing in a darkened hallway with Pansy Parkinson?" he asked.

Draco blinked at him. Was Harry jealous? He considered the novel idea for a moment or two, until the angry Auror spun on a heel and stalked away.

Draco hurried after him. It only took a few steps to catch him and he pulled Harry around to face him. Green eyes flashed through the grey mask and Draco refrained from smiling, barely. "Harry, stop."

"Maybe you should hurry after Pansy," Harry said tightly.

Draco pulled him into an embrace. It was somewhat like hugging a block of granite. He really was angry.

"Harry, there is nothing between me and Pansy."

"That's not what it looked like."

"Don't tell me you're jealous of a female."

"Did she recognize you?" Harry asked.

It was Draco's turn to stiffen. He thought about lying. "Yes."

"Fuck. She won't keep quiet, will she?"

"Actually, she will," Draco said with a hint of a smirk. He was very good at his Memory Modification Charm, after all.

Harry tipped his head back to look into Draco's eyes. If anything, he looked even more suspicious. "What did you promise her?"

"Not a single thing."

Harry inhaled sharply. "What did you do to her?"

"You don't want to know," Draco admitted and was profoundly relieved when the music began, nearly deafening them. There was a collective wince and the music stopped before resuming at a more tolerable level. "Would you like to dance?"

Harry gaped at him and Draco noticed that he had softened a bit in Draco's grip, no longer trying to pry himself free. "Dance?" Harry repeated.

"I realize that my toes will most likely not thank you in the morning, but yes, Harry, would you like to dance with me?"

A large section of the floor had cleared in the centre of the room and various couples made their way there to swirl sedately. Harry swallowed hard and Draco smiled. He seldom observed uncertain Harry and it was a definite treat. He moved his hand downwards and gripped Harry's.

"Come on," he said and pulled Harry onto the floor with the crowd parting before them. Harry was nearly as stiff as he had been earlier, but Draco patiently guided him until he started to relax. After several passes without falling, or causing excessive damage to Draco's feet, Harry actually grinned.

"This is kind of fun," he admitted.

"Of course it's fun," Draco said and held him more tightly as they executed a quick turn. He noticed several flashbulbs bursting and knew that Harry was still the centre of attention as far as the press was concerned. Harry's hand tightened on his shoulder and he frowned, apparently seeing them also.

"I want to go home," Harry said suddenly.

"Don't you want to give them a show first?" Draco asked, slowing his steps.

"I think they've had enough of a show already... What do you mean?"

Draco stopped dancing and moved his fingers up to touch the edge of Harry's jaw. His fingertips drew gentle circles for a moment and then slid beneath Harry's chin to tip his head back slightly. "I think a kiss might make a nice photo, don't you agree?"

Harry's eyes widened beneath the mask. "But..."

"Don't worry, I'll extract payment later," Draco assured him. Before he could rethink his reckless action, Draco lowered his head and touched his lips to Harry's.

ooOooOooOoo

Harry was drowning. He had imagined this moment a hundred times, a thousand times, but the reality was nothing like the fantasy. Draco's lips were warm and soft and only slightly wet, pressing gently against his. The kiss was chaste, almost sweet, and certainly nothing that would account for the sudden racing of Harry's pulse.

He could hardly believe Draco was kissing him. He had never allowed it before, not even once, not even accidentally. Harry couldn't breathe as Draco's lips moved over his, still gentle, brushing over his sensitive flesh and then sucking lightly. Harry instinctively moved forwards, clutching at Draco and parting his lips, desperate for more and terrified that Draco would pull away after the brief tease.

But Draco did not. Instead his left arm tightened around Harry's waist while his other hand slipped from Harry's jaw into the hair at the nape of his neck. Draco's tongue flicked over Harry's lips in a light caress, first the bottom and then the top. Harry's hands clenched in the fur of Draco's costume as he fought a whimper. He wondered if it was possible to die from a simple kiss.

Harry drew in a shuddering breath as Draco pulled back for the merest instant before diving in once more, this time to breach Harry's parted lips. The first brush of tongue against tongue was beyond brilliant.

Harry succumbed, not caring at all about the crowd around him and the flashes and murmurs—his world had narrowed to encompass nothing but Draco and the sweep of his tongue as it explored Harry's mouth. It seemed almost too gentle, as if he thought Harry might break beneath the onslaught.

Draco stopped, albeit not quite abruptly, pulling away with a last caress over Harry's tongue and a light suction on Harry's lips. Harry panted and tried to regain some semblance of control, but when his eyes met Draco's, even veiled by the mask, he knew he was lost. He was completely and utterly owned by his rentboy.

ooOooOooOoo

Draco looked at Harry, shaken to his core. Fuck, it was a kiss. It was only a kiss.

But Harry didn't look as though it was merely a kiss. His eyes were wide and unfocused, staring through glasses and mask with pupils so large he might have been drugged. His lips were parted, gleaming with Draco's saliva, and so fucking kissable it was all Draco could do to resist the lure.

Harry seemed oblivious to the shocked crowd, but Draco felt their presence with a bizarre sense of resentment. Harry looked—Merlin, he looked like he wouldn't protest if Draco laid him out on the floor and peeled off his clothing in front of the entire wizarding world. He looked at Draco as though he were the centre of the damned universe.

No one deserved to see this Harry. This Harry was Draco's and he would be damned to a thousand hells if he would share. Not now, at least, not until Harry pointed him towards the door and released Draco from their agreement.

Until that moment, Harry Potter was _his_.

Draco curled his arm around Harry and drew him closer, concealing Harry's dazed face in the curve of his shoulder. "Come on," he said gruffly and headed for the nearest fireplace. The crowd parted before them, wisely, because Draco was not above pushing at the moment.

He ushered Harry into the Floo and caught Granger's worried face an instant before he called out, "Diagon Alley!"

They appeared before Ollivander's and Harry smiled in bemusement as the fitful rain hit their faces. "Why are we here?" he asked a moment before people surrounded them like ravenous beasts, unfettered by the chains of propriety.

"Harry Potter!" they bellowed.

"A moment please!"

"I have some questions!"

Draco snarled and Apparated them to Grimmauld Place.

ooOooOooOoo

Harry stepped away from Draco and wiped at a droplet of rain that clung to the tip of his nose. The rush of cool air had cleared his head somewhat. He smiled at Draco.

"I would have Flooed straight here," he admitted.

Draco nodded as he tore off the Viking helmet and mask. "And they would have camped outside the front door and alerted not only your Muggle neighbors, but also the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. You would have been in trouble with your boss and I would not have a moment of peace."

Harry wanted to say thank you. He wanted to say a large number of things, but there suddenly seemed no way to convey his feelings, which were too large for mere words to contain.

Instead he said nothing and watched Draco take off his furred costume—the axe, the leather, the raised boots. Harry was silent as Draco spelled away the braids and lightened his hair to its usual platinum sheen.

When Draco stood before him clad in nothing but leather breeches, Harry felt something close to pain tugging at his chest. He opened his mouth to speak.

Thankfully, Draco shot him a sardonic look. "Planning to wear that getup all night?" he asked. "Let me guess; you want me to call you Your Majesty?"

Harry tugged off his mask and dropped it. He took several steps forwards and wrapped his arms around Draco's bare torso. "Actually, I want you to fuck me," he whispered.


	9. Chapter 9

Draco's heart skipped a beat or two at Harry's words and he kept his jaw from dropping through sheer force of will. It had been an unspoken agreement between them since their first time together; Harry naturally topped and Draco had never questioned it. Now, however, Harry seemed tired and vulnerable and Draco realized with a jolt of shock that Harry's poised competence handling the press and the crowd had been an amazing act. Draco had always thought Harry to be an attention-seeker, an attitude that had been well-reinforced by Severus Snape's jibes and running commentary during their school years. Draco had never suspected that Harry hated it. He would not have guessed that Harry was actually an intensely private person, although in hindsight it should have been obvious by his choice of friends. As much as Draco despised Weasley and Granger, they had faithfully bonded to Harry and protected him to the exclusion of all others. He saw now that they were part of Harry's armour against the world.

Draco's mind reeled with newfound awareness as Harry's hands moved over his back. Wet lips nuzzled into Draco's neck and Harry's words seemed to hang in the air between them. Draco lifted his hands and pushed his fingers gently into Harry's impossibly thick hair, admiring the softness of it. He smiled as he considered how much it symbolized Harry, wild and unruly at times, but always soft to the touch. He tugged lightly and Harry removed his mouth from Draco's neck, which was almost a crime because he knew Draco's sensitive spots and loved to attack them with determined ardour.

Their eyes met and Draco found himself smiling in reassurance. Harry tentatively smiled back, a look Draco found so endearing he had to look away to hide a sudden rush of emotion. _Concentrate_ , he told himself sternly. _Now is not the time for Hufflepuffish sentiment._ He focussed on the lion brooch he had connected for Harry earlier. He unclasped it and let the red cape fall to the floor, quickly followed by the girdle and tunic. Harry's bare chest was a wonder, smooth and muscular, rising and falling evenly with each breath. Draco's hands moved over it slowly, fingers splayed, touching Harry from collarbones to ribs. His skin radiated heat, as always, warming Draco's hands. Draco traced over the ripples of Harry's abdomen and his thumbs brushed the waistband of his trousers.

Harry toed off his boots as Draco pulled at the trouser fastenings. Harry overbalanced trying to shake off a boot and nearly pulled them both down, but reflexively steadied them at the last moment. Draco guffawed as Harry's forehead dropped to rest on his shoulder as chuckles shook him. With the strange tension between them effectively crushed, Draco attacked the trouser buttons with renewed vigour.

The stubborn things finally released and Harry stepped easily out of the fabric, nearly killing Draco when he realized Harry had not been wearing pants. All. Night. Long. He growled low and reached out to run his hand over the top of Harry's erect cock, petting it just lightly enough to tease.

"Draco," Harry said with a moan. Draco ignored that, even though it had a terrible effect on his libido.  His own erection struggled against the confines of the leather trousers. Not only had Draco worn pants, but he had reinforced them with the suspicion that Harry would cause him physical distress more than once during the evening, something that had definitely happened during their single kiss. He frowned. Had Harry felt nothing?

"So, Potter," he asked conversationally as he continued to brush his fingertips across the length of Harry's twitching cock. "Where was this when I kissed you tonight?"

Harry held Draco's waist tightly and his breathing was definitely erratic. At least he was affected _now_. "Oh Merlin," he said. "Merlin, I knew I'd never get through the night with you in leather trousers looking like that." He threw his head back and Draco had to bite the inside of his lip hard not to completely lose control. Fucking hell, but Harry was gorgeous. Harry went on in a whisper. "I spelled my trousers. Confining Charm. Damned good thing I did, too, or the photos in the _Daily Prophet_ would reveal quite a lot more than I'd intended." He groaned. "Don't tease."

Confining Charm. Of course. Draco nearly laughed with relief and stroked Harry once more before ordering gruffly, "Get on the bed."

To Draco's surprise, Harry obeyed, turning and crawling onto the bed like the professional Draco was supposed to be. He lay on his back wantonly and watched with a lust-glazed expression as Draco peeled off his final layer of garments. He felt a heady sense of power when Harry looked at him with that particular expression, so he raised his arms in a languid stretch as though warming up for a marathon. Harry's brows disappeared into his messy hair and his eyes travelled up and down Draco's body before fixing on his cock. Harry's tongue trailed over his lower lip in a way that made Draco doubt he was even conscious of the motion.

Harry lifted a hand in supplication and Draco's patience for teasing evaporated. He stalked over and climbed onto his supine lover. Every delicate brush of skin on skin as he placed his hands and knees was electric. He hovered over Harry, looking down into his face before quirking a grin and removing Harry's spectacles with one hand. Draco tossed them somewhere across the room. He loved making Harry search for them, especially when he was late for work and scrambled around half-dressed and half-blind.

"I hate when you do that," Harry muttered.

"No, you don't. You know I watch you while you hunt for them."

Harry swallowed and his Adam's apple bobbed deliciously. "You watch me?"

Draco chuckled. "You know I do or you would just Summon them, you bloody exhibitionist." He lowered his head and pressed rough kisses into Harry's neck, biting lightly, wanting to mark him but not quite daring.

"I'm not—" Harry began, but Draco's hand closing over his cock silenced him.

Draco grinned wickedly. "You like it when I watch you, don't you, Harry?" he purred.

Harry's reply was a choked sound, but he cleared his throat and murmured, "Yes. Merlin, yes."

"Good, because I'm going to watch you right now." With that, Draco pushed himself back until he sat between Harry's legs. His hard cock was nestled beneath Harry's arse cheeks and Draco's thighs cradled his arse. Draco had only stopped his gentle tugging at Harry's erection while he positioned himself. He took it up once more and allowed his eyes to travel slowly over every bit of Harry, so wantonly exposed.

Harry watched Draco watching him. He was utterly beautiful.

"Are you ready, Harry?" Draco asked gently after watching him slowly come undone. Harry's chest hitched with staccato breaths and his fingers--at first resting gently on Draco's outer thighs--trembled and pressed tightly into Draco's skin, slick with sweat. He was close, very close, Draco knew.

"Ready," Harry repeated breathlessly. "Yes, ready."

Draco removed his hand from Harry's cock and dragged it through the damp curls and over Harry's taut testicles before easing into the dark crevice beneath. "I need you to spread wider."

Harry lifted his knees obediently and let go of Draco in order to grip them, spreading his legs even wider and giving Draco access to everything. Draco had to shut his eyes for a moment because it was almost too much. Harry Potter offering himself completely was beyond anything Draco had even dreamed.

Harry asked, "Is... is this okay?"

Draco shook himself and forced a smile. "Perfect, Harry." He reached for his wand and Summoned the lubricant from the bedside table. Harry had located it while shopping one day--even though the thought of Harry in a sex shop had made Draco laugh for fully twenty minutes--and Draco had to admit it was far superior to anything they could Conjure from a wand. He pulled the cork and the substance magically flowed into his hand until halted with a word. It was warm from the bottle, so Draco leaned forwards and let his fingers glide over Harry's tense hole. "Relax," Draco coaxed.

Harry's muscles unclenched, but only for a moment. Draco recalled his own loss of anal innocence and teased lightly with his fingers, over and over, rubbing small circles without attempting to breach the tight ring. Finally, Harry began to relax in earnest and even started to push back against Draco's questing fingers, seeking more stimulation.

At last Draco slipped one finger inside, only to the first knuckle, and Harry tensed again, clenching tightly around the digit. Draco thought of that tight heat wrapping around his cock and felt his mouth go dry with anticipation. He moved his finger in and out rhythmically until Harry gasped. "More."

Draco obliged, pressing another inside and Harry hissed at the new intrusion, but quickly recovered. By the time Draco added a third, he was drenched with sweat from the effort of finger fucking Harry and his arm ached as much as his leaking cock, but Harry's soft cries were more than worth the bother.

"Draco, now. I want all of you now."

Draco hoped to Salazar he didn't come the instant he penetrated Harry, because he was certain he had never been so hard in his life. Harry's cock leaked fluid onto his abdomen and as Draco moved to position himself, he leaned down and licked a stripe over the head. Harry cried out raggedly and Draco smirked. He quickly thought back to some of his more unsavoury "clients" in order to take the edge off, because touching Harry was bringing him dangerously close to orgasm. It worked long enough for him to align himself properly. His eyes met Harry's and he smiled reassuringly, even though he knew Harry would not thank him for what was to come. With that, he pushed forward mercilessly.

Harry's back arched and his hands flew up to clench around Draco's wrists tightly, but he made no sound. Damned stubborn Gryffindor. "You all right?" Draco asked and Harry nodded.

"How do you stand this?" Harry asked in a ragged voice and Draco felt a moment of alarm. Surely he wouldn't think it so horrible that he would stop fucking Draco out of a sense of guilt at causing him unbearable pain?

"It gets better," Draco assured him quickly and hoped he hadn't spoken a lie. What if he could not make it as good for Harry as Harry always made it for him?

"Okay," Harry said trustingly and Draco set his jaw with renewed determination. He could do this. After all, he'd had a very good teacher.

"I'm going to move now."

"All right." Harry's hands tightened on his wrists and Draco pulled out a bit. He pressed back in, slowly but inexorably, and nearly bit his lip bloody when Harry's eyes reflected nothing but pain.

"Want me to stop?" Draco asked, although it was the last thing he wanted to do. The feel of Harry clenched around him--Merlin, Salazar, and Circe it felt incredible. Harry was hot enough on the outside, but inside he was even hotter.

Harry shook his head. "No. No, I'm fine."

"Liar."

"I'm fine," Harry said with determination. As if to prove it, he lifted his arse and rocked hard onto Draco's cock, making them both gasp.

Draco stared down into wide green eyes and then smiled broadly. "Stubborn," he chided and then added, "But, damn if you don't feel good."

Harry let go of his wrist with one hand, only to raise it and caress the side of Draco's face tenderly. Draco sighed and turned his head to press a kiss into Harry's palm. The gesture seemed stupidly sentimental and he sought to eradicate the confused jumble of emotion Harry always seemed to evoke. He pulled his cock nearly out and then drove it home. Harry's hand dropped back to his wrist and held tightly. Draco thrust, nearly blinded by sensation. Fuck, it was brilliant beyond belief.

"Draco," Harry moaned and he stopped instantly.

"What? Are you all right?"

"Bloody hell, don't stop," Harry said. "Faster, fuck, go faster." To underscore his words, he levered himself forward, driving Draco even deeper.

Faster, oh yes, at times Harry came up with simply wonderful ideas. Draco obliged, moving faster, harder, and deeper, spurred on by Harry's cries—no longer sounds of pain. It became even better when Harry started chanting his name, interspersed with _yes, yes_ , and _oh, Merlin_ , and finally disintegrated into whimpering, huffing pants. Draco knew he couldn't hold it much longer once that litany began and he finally thought to detach one arm from Harry's increasingly painful grip on his wrist in order to grasp Harry's leaking, twitching cock. Apparently, the additional stimulation was all Harry needed.

Harry arched beautifully and a ragged shout escaped him as he came over Draco's stroking hand. He clenched with almost unbearable tightness around Draco's cock and it only took three more deep thrusts before Draco came. His vision went white with the force of it and he was quite sure he had cried out Harry's name. He collapsed on Harry's chest, covered in sweat and tingling from every nerve ending.

"Fuck," he managed.

"Yes, you did," Harry said in a silken tone. "And quite exceptionally, I might add."

Draco wrapped his arms around Harry and buried his face in his damp hair. He could not meet those brilliant green eyes at the moment; he dared not. "It was acceptable, then?"

Harry's arms tightened around his back. "Worth five thousand Galleons per night," he replied.

Draco stiffened at the unwelcome reminder of his rentboy status, but he forced a chuckle that was muffled by Harry's neck. "I knew I should have charged you more."

"You'll drain my Gringott's account dry."

"You plan to renew our bargain, then? Once the six months is done?" Draco asked teasingly, although the question caused a sharp ache in his chest.

"If necessary," Harry said drowsily and Draco knew he was falling asleep. Draco sighed heavily and decided he did not want to think about the end of their agreement. He just wanted to stay right where he was for as long as possible.

"Draco?" he heard a few minutes later and roused himself with difficulty. He wondered if he was crushing Harry.

"Hmmm?" he mumbled.

"Draco, I want…"

He waited, but Harry seemed either to have fallen asleep or forgotten his intention to speak. Draco pressed a kiss into the salty flesh touching his lips. "Already?" he asked silkily.

Harry chuckled, but it sounded forced. "I want… Oh hell, I just want to thank you. For everything."

 _Gryffindors_ , Draco thought fuzzily. "You're welcome, Harry," he said and went to sleep.

ooOooOooOoo

Harry heard Draco snicker as he fumbled around on the floor and reached beneath the wardrobe, seeking his glasses.

  
"Nice arse, Harry."

"Thank you, prat," Harry replied as his fingers closed around the metal. He blew at the dust and vowed to have a talk with Winky about cleaning beneath the furniture.

"I'm cold," Draco complained.

"Then pull up the covers, silly," Harry said and returned to the bed to drag the blankets over Draco's nude form. Nevertheless, he threw himself atop Draco and buried his face in the hollow of his throat. Draco's arms wrapped around his shoulders.

"You are warmer than any old blankets," Draco said sleepily.

"Thanks to you constantly making me hot and bothered," Harry retorted with a grin. He sucked lightly on Draco's pulse point.

"How do you feel?" Draco asked.

"Perfect," Harry said, although he was slightly sore in places he had never been sore before. There mere remembrance of how those places became sore sent a surge of lust to his groin.

Draco groaned. "Again? Bloody hell, you are insatiable, aren't you?"

"Yes, and I blame you completely. Unfortunately, I can't right now. I've got to get to work."

Draco's arms tightened. "Must you?" he breathed and Harry growled and bit his neck with mock ferocity.

"Stop tempting me, wicked one. You know I have to go and face the music. You can feel free to lie here and get your beauty sleep."

Draco sniffed, but made no move to release him. "I certainly don't need beauty sleep, whereas you…"

Harry bit him again, harder this time, earning a yelp.

"Beast of an Auror! How dare you mar my exquisite skin?"

"I'll do more than that to your exquisite skin if you don't watch it," Harry warned.

"Promises, promises," Draco taunted.

Harry laughed and then pushed himself up onto his hands, breaking Draco's hold. He stared down at Draco for a moment and then leaned down to place a gentle kiss on his chin and another on his nose. Normally the gesture drew a sharp comment, but this time Draco only sighed softly. Harry could feel his erection, hard against his own even with the blankets between them. He groaned in dismay. "I really have to go," he said and pushed completely away from the seductive Slytherin, this time not stopping until he was well away from the bed. His need for Draco was maddening, at times.

"I'll be home for lunch if I can," he said. "If not, I will send you a message. If I can't… well, you still have your mirror, right?"

Draco snorted and dragged the covers up to his chin as he snuggled deeper into the pillows. "As if I care whether or not you come back at all," he said snidely and Harry suppressed a grin, knowing Draco only lashed out because Harry had not satisfied his lust. He waited with arms crossed until Draco continued, "Yes, I have the stupid mirror. Put something on before you catch a chill. You look like a compass."

Harry laughed and obediently dragged on a pair of pants, into which he shoved his offending erection. He assumed it would shrink by the time he got to the office, provided he did not allow himself to think of Draco at all.

He paused before leaving the room and then returned to the bed to plant a kiss on Draco's forehead. "Goodbye, darling," he said cheerfully.

"Sod off, Potter," Draco said grouchily and yanked the covers over his head. Harry chuckled and headed downstairs.

ooOooOooOoo

Draco threw the blankets back as soon as he heard Harry's footsteps retreating. He had planned to sleep until at least noon, but the damned prat had to go and get him all hot and bothered, flashing his bare arse as he walked around the room searching for his bloody glasses. Draco cursed himself for admitting that he'd watched him. His annoyance softened and he smiled softly. Harry resembled nothing more than a cuddly puppy at times with his stupid, ridiculous gestures of affection. Honestly, kissing his face…

Draco frowned and reached a hand between his legs. It was slightly possible that the face-kissing was a bit of a turn on. Which was quite annoying because instead of sleeping, now Draco had to wank.

He had barely stroked his cock once when the shriek of a Howler rang through the building at ear-splitting levels. Draco listened to it for far longer than he would have dreamed possible before levering himself out of bed in a snit.

He yanked on a dressing gown and stalked downstairs to find Harry in the kitchen surrounded by fluttering bits of angry parchment, looking shocked and miserable. Draco lifted his wand and cast a Confinement Bubble. He compressed it to the size of a thimble and watched with satisfaction as it exploded in a puff of red smoke.

"Bloody hell, Harry, you don't have to open them! I destroyed my first Howler when I was five years old."

"You got a Howler when you were five?"

Draco nodded. "I hexed a neighbour's child and his mother was less than pleased with me."

"You know, you were not very nice as a child."

Draco smiled beatifically. "I'm nice now, though."

A smiled curved Harry's lips. "Very nice," he purred and Draco thought about kidnapping him for the day, Ministry be damned. He was distracted by a brown owl as it swooped in and dropped off the _Daily Prophet_ —Harry always left one of the upstairs windows open for the daily post owls. Draco snatched the paper before Harry could touch it.

He barely noticed the headline that screamed **GAY AUROR SCANDAL** because his attention was riveted by the accompanying photo. He vaguely remembered flashbulbs going off while they had kissed, but the result was startling. Draco was transfixed at the sight of Harry's head tipping back, submissive to the first touch of Draco's lips. He marvelled at the sight of his own fingers caressing Harry's jaw before slipping into the ink-black hair. Merlin, the kiss was beyond anything he had imagined. He felt a blush tint his cheeks and something warm and infinitely dangerous uncurled deep within, making it suddenly difficult to breathe.

"What is it?" Harry asked anxiously and leaned forward to peer over the edge of the paper.

Draco snatched it to his breast and struggled for normalcy. His thoughts were racing. Fuck, he felt exposed by the photo. It was not a bloody picture of Potter and his rentboy. It was a photo of two men in love. The fact that it was a lie made his hands clench on the edges of the paper, crumpling it reflexively.

"It's just the _Daily_ fucking _Prophet_ ," he said hoarsely. "You already know what they have to say about you."

"Let me guess. 'Boy Who Lives Shags Man' or something equally heinous?"

Draco nodded and wondered how Harry could be so calm when Draco felt almost faint. Then again, he hadn't seen the photo.

"I expected it," Harry continued and sighed. "I suppose I had better go do some damage control. Kingsley is going to chew me a new arsehole."

"I hope not," Draco said, struggling for a normal tone. "I rather like the one you have."

To his delight, Harry blushed and leaned across the table to kiss Draco's forehead. "Winky packed me a breakfast. Be sure to eat something before you dive back beneath the covers."

"Yes, mother," Draco said meekly and grinned when Harry Disapparated.

He set the paper on the table and smoothed it gently before tracing over the edge of Harry's jaw line. He stared at the photo for a long time before he bothered to read the article.

ooOooOooOoo

As expected, Harry's announcement had repercussions, beginning almost the instant he arrived at work. He made a mental note to have Draco teach him the spell for containing and destroying the Howlers – he could have used it for the ones fluttering around his desk.

  
Before he could even acknowledge the hate mail, however, he first had to deal with Hermione Granger. She stood in his office with arms akimbo and foot tapping with impatience—never a welcome sight.

Harry sighed as he dropped his outer robes over a nearby chair. Hermione slammed the door, locked it, and cast a Silencing Charm. "Out with it," she demanded.

Harry grinned sheepishly and slid into his seat, hoping the heavy oak desk would provide some protection should she decide to start hexing him. It did nothing to deflect the waves of disapproval she currently directed at him.

"Out with what?" he asked as a stalling technique. "I came out last night, remember?"

She leaned over his desk. "Harry James Potter, it's bad enough you were keeping a secret like this from me and Ron, your _best friends_ , but the fact that you seem to have taken up with Draco bloody Malfoy defies sanity!"

Harry frowned as conflicting emotions assaulted him. Chief among them was guilt—he knew he should have brought her into his confidence, although perhaps not Ron, because Ron would most likely need years to assimilate the revelation of Harry's preferences alone, but Hermione… Close on the heels of his guilt was a flare of defensive annoyance. It was his life and Draco was his business.

"I went to your flat, although it looks as though you have not been there in months from the state of it. Please tell me you are not shacking up with that blond menace!"

Harry glared and his hands clenched. "He is not a menace and I think I am quite grown up enough to decide who I will and will not shack up with!"

She reared back with a gasp and her eyes widened. "Oh bloody hell, you are living with him! I had hoped it was merely a lark or a one-off. How long has this been going on, Harry?"

He flushed and set his jaw, revealing nothing. The guilt he felt for not telling her he was gay was nothing next to the knowledge that his relationship with Draco was not at all what she thought. If she knew he was paying Malfoy he would not hear the end of it if he lived to be two hundred.

"Harry, you know what he is! You know what he's done in the past and what he's capable of—have you been checked for the Imperius Curse?"

"I am not under an Imperius, Hermione! For Merlin's sake, it's just a fling. Neither of us is serious and we're not having a bloody relationship or anything stupid like that!"

"A fling. With Draco Malfoy. Could you not have found anyone else in this entire world more suitable?" she demanded.

Harry launched himself to his feet angrily. "No, I could not! For your information there is no one else in the world for me! There is only him! And he's not who you think he is, not any more! He's warm and kind, and creative, and funny, and intelligent and he—" Harry trailed off at Hermione's flabbergasted expression.

"Oh no. Oh no, no, no," she said in a voice barely louder than a whisper. "It can't be. Harry, you're in love with him."

Harry gaped at her and then burst out laughing as he sank back down in his seat. It sounded somewhat hysterical even to his ears, so he cut it short. "Godric, no! Of course I'm not. We simply… have an arrangement. It's only temporary."

Her brown eyes pierced him and her mouth twisted into a sceptical line. "Does he know that? It seems to be quite some arrangement, judging by that kiss last night. I thought I might have to turn a cold shower on you both."

Harry flushed scarlet, remembering the kiss. He could not admit to her that it had been their _only_ kiss. She would pry at him until he spilled everything. If she ever found out that Draco was nothing more than a rentboy… Harry groaned.

"I'll be fine," he assured her. "It's only a matter of convenience."

"Convenience," she repeated, obviously not convinced. At his grim nod, she sighed and Harry almost sagged with relief, recognizing the sign that she meant to retreat, at least for now. "All right, then, but you had better hope the press never catches wind of his identity." She gestured at the letters and Howlers littering his desk. "Or this will seem like a child's picnic."

"I know that. I am doing my best to keep Dra—Malfoy protected from this. I don't want him…" _Hurt_ , he nearly finished.

"Using it to his advantage?" she finished for him.

"He won't do that," Harry insisted.

She rolled her eyes. "I am very concerned that you have suddenly become Draco Malfoy's biggest supporter, Harry. I suggest you have yourself checked for the Imperius Curse or possible Obliviation." She held up a hand to halt his protest. "Even if you think you don't need it. Do it for my sake, all right?"

He frowned and nodded, already knowing he would never comply. He had suspected the same thing in the beginning and a Detection Spell had revealed nothing. Harry's feelings for Draco—whatever they were—belonged to him alone.

Hermione nodded and her features softened. "I do care about you, Harry. You know that."

"I know," he said.

She unlocked the door and lifted the spells, but paused before turning the handle. "By the way, I suggest you meet with Ron as soon as possible. He is not taking this as well as I am. And he doesn't even know the identity of your… friend."

Harry buried his head in his hands and mentally thanked her for not disclosing that particular titbit. Ron would never forgive him for taking up with Draco, but there was no need for him ever to find out. His arrangement with Draco would be over soon enough. Too soon for Harry.

He looked at the stack of mail on his desk and shoved them all to the floor with a violent motion of his arm. One of the Howlers began to smoke and expel sparks.

 _Fuck_.

ooOooOooOoo

Draco shamelessly opened all of Harry's mail and destroyed the less than flattering, rude, or blatantly hateful letters, keeping only those that were supportive of Harry's disclosure. There were a surprising number of positive missives, proof of the public's never-ending love affair with the Boy Who Lived. Still, there were enough of the other kind, no doubt fuelled by the nastiness of the _Daily Prophet_ articles, that Draco sat back with his cup of tea and pondered Harry's reaction. He would likely sit back stoically and take whatever was thrown at him.

Which was not quite good enough for Draco.

He went upstairs, dressed quickly, and departed.

Sometime later, Draco sat across from Maxwell Smead, a man whose services he had never required, although he remembered accompanying his father to the man's office on several occasions. Smead stared at him suspiciously through spectacles with huge lenses that made his eyes look watery and bovine. Draco had always secretly thought of him as Oxwell Smead, especially when the matted black hair plastered against the man's round head did little to dispel his resemblance to a Spanish bull. Draco half-expected him to moo instead of speak.

"What ye need this fer?" Smead asked. Rather than lowing, the man's voice was harsh and raspy. He most likely imbibed several illegal potions on a daily basis, judging by the shaking of his hands and the sickly colour of his skin.

"What I need it for is none of your business," Draco snapped, but he sighed when the man's lips thinned into a line of annoyance. "If you must know, I have never been a friend of Harry Potter. I found these articles rather amusing and would like to send the author a token of appreciation, as well as give him—or her—some incentive to continue mocking the Boy Who Lived."

Smead blinked at him, which was a disconcerting enough sight that Draco nearly had to look away. _Moooo_ , he thought.

"What'd 'e ever do ter ye?" Smead asked.

Draco fought to keep a straight face and thanked the years of schooling that enabled him to maintain a placid façade while he thought, _What did he do? He fucked me seven ways from Sunday just this week_. "He made my school years a living hell. He contributed to the loss of my father, my estate, and my inheritance! That is what the prat has done to me!" Draco's voice rose stridently and Smead sat back in his chair quickly, as if to dive beneath his desk if Draco chose to throw hexes in a rage. It had probably happened in the past, even though many of Smead's clients came from the higher echelons of wizarding society.

"Makes no nevermind ter me," Smead said and shrugged. "Long as ye can cough up me price."

"Which is?" Draco asked dryly.

"One hundred Galleons."

Draco scowled. _The bloody bastard!_ That was utter robbery and Draco knew it. "One hundred? For a bloody name? I could probably call the _Daily Prophet_ and get it myself."

Smead made a wet sound in his throat, as though a wad of phlegm had caught there and prevented him taking a breath. He repeated it and shrugged. "Ye can try. Them's nearly as tight-lipped at the _Prophet_ as they are at the Ministry. Luck to ye."

Draco nearly growled. "I do not have the time to deal with this matter. It's merely a trifle, anyway. A lark." Draco dipped into the pouch at his waist and extracted a number of coins. Truthfully, he had expected the price to be slightly higher. Smead must have heard about the loss of the Malfoy fortune and taken pity on him; after all, a small fee was better than no fee.

"Pleasure doin' business wit' ye, Malfoy. I'll get this ter ye afore day's end."

Draco nodded and gladly escaped the man's repulsive presence.

ooOooOooOoo

Harry could not escape the office quickly enough. Between the hate mail, the Howlers, the curious, smirking, or blatantly rude looks of his coworkers to an extremely unpleasant reaming by Kingsley—who was far more upset about Harry's timing rather than the actual event—he felt drained and exhausted by the time noon arrived. He gratefully Flooed home, hoping Draco would be awake.

  
The house was quiet, but a delightful smell wafted from the kitchen. Winky must be cooking. Harry's stomach rumbled and he realized that even with a pounding headache, he was famished. "Draco?" he called hopefully.

To his surprise, Draco appeared in the archway to the living room, clad only in black silk pyjama bottoms and a white shirt that was completely unbuttoned. It was, quite possibly, Harry's favourite of all the outfits Draco wore. Judging by the smirk, Draco was well aware of the fact.

"Rough day, so far?" Draco purred and moved forward sinuously.

"It's starting to look up," Harry admitted, feeling a heady rush at Draco's nearness.

Draco tsked and his hands lifted to the clasp that fastened Harry's Auror robes. He deftly released it and eased the fabric away—it fell to the floor with a heavy rustle. The buttons of Harry's shirt were next. Draco pushed each one through the hole and parted the shirt. He put his cool hands on Harry's chest and trailed them gently over his skin in slow circles before tweaking at his nipples, pulling them into hard peaks. Harry moaned and reached for Draco, but his hands were blocked when Draco grabbed his wrists. He moved forwards, forcing Harry back against the wall, nearly knocking over the umbrella stand. He pressed Harry's wrists against the wall for a moment before dipping his head to taste the hollow of Harry's throat.

"Draco," Harry breathed. The hands left his wrists and moved back to his chest. Harry kept his hands against the wall, allowing Draco to take the lead. He heard a banging from the kitchen and realized they probably should not do this in the entryway, but when Draco sucked on his pulse point he forgot to care.

Draco's hips rocked forwarsd suddenly, grinding his erection into Harry's with delicious pressure. "Hard for me again, Harry?"

"Always. Fuck, always."

Draco raised his head and their eyes locked for a moment. Draco thrust sharply, causing Harry to wince even as he moaned. His trousers were in the way. He wanted to feel all of Draco. His hands dropped away from the wall, but Draco quickly pushed them back into place with a glare. "Bad Auror."

Harry couldn't help it. He smiled.

"Don't move," Draco admonished and stepped back far enough to put his hands on the fasteners of Harry's trousers. Harry felt strangely exposed with his arms flat against the wall and his shirt open to Draco's hot gaze. Draco dropped to his knees and yanked open Harry's trousers just far enough to expose his cock. Dishes rattled again, startling him, but he could not have moved if his life depended on it. _Please let Winky stay in the kitchen_ , he begged the heavens silently.

Draco smirked as if reading Harry's mind and then licked the head of his cock in a slow, maddening circle before lapping up the spurt of precome that leaked from the tip. He took the hood into his mouth and sucked, nearly making Harry's vision go white. Draco's fingers remained curled in the open waistband of his trousers—he did not touch Harry's cock except with his mouth. He alternately flicked with his tongue, swirled, lapped, and then sucked hard, keeping his attention only on the head, never touching the shaft. It was both maddening and fuckingly, mind-blowingly hot.

Draco's licks were delicate torture, easing Harry back from the brink of orgasm with pauses between just long enough to make him want to scream before the next brush of wet tongue over the throbbing head. Harry's hands shook against the wallpaper and his palms were wet with sweat. Just when he though he could take no more, Draco would envelope the tip and _suck_ , hollowing his cheeks with the effort. Harry lasted far, far longer than he would have imagined, but finally the sucking did him in.

"Draco, oh Merlin, Draco, Draco, fuck, I'm going to—"

Even then, Draco did not take it all; he simply allowed Harry's come to fill his mouth. His eyes were shut and his face looked incredible with his lips wrapped around Harry's pulsing cock. A white dribble leaked from the corner of his mouth before he swallowed and then sucked one last time, pulling a ragged gasp from Harry's throat with the last of his release.

Harry was shaking. Just when he thought nothing Draco did could surprise him. He lowered one hand and wiped the liquid away with his thumb as Draco's eyes opened. His tongue licked once more over Harry's slit, causing him to shiver.

"If Masters are being finished their lunch is being ready for eating," Winky said and Harry's head snapped around. The house-elf stood in the doorway to the kitchen, watching them placidly.

She disappeared as Draco's laughter filled the hallway.


	10. Chapter 10

Draco awakened early from his nap and listened carefully for sounds of activity. The house was silent, something that normally pleased him. He enjoyed solitude. Winky typically confined her cleaning activities to rooms far from whatever area Draco occupied, in order not to disturb him. She was shaping up to be a fine house-elf since Draco had ordered her to stop drinking.

Draco got up and donned a black silk dressing gown before padding out to locate Harry, who could be nearly as quiet and invisible as a house-elf when he chose to be, especially when Draco was napping. Harry knew better than to awaken him prematurely, unless it happened to be with a sexual invitation.

Harry was not to be found in the usual places. He was not reading or poring over case files, he was not in the kitchen, and he was not in the attic sending mail. For a moment, Draco wondered if he had left, and vowed to chastise him harshly for not at least leaving a note. Perhaps he had told one Winky.

"Master Harry is being in the fourth floor bedroom with the nastymean painting of dead Master Arcturus."

Draco frowned. What was Harry doing in that room? Draco had barely touched it in his renovation; he had left the sombre décor and the portrait of "nastymean" Arcturus Black with the intention of putting Weasley in the room should he ever choose to visit. Of course, if that day ever came, Draco would depart Grimmauld Place—and possibly the county. He had no intention of sharing the same domicile with Weasley or Granger under any circumstances.

He found Harry in the room, leaning over a large table beneath the small window with papers spread out before him.

"What are you doing in here?" Draco asked.

Harry started and then turned, looking decidedly guilty. Draco's eyes narrowed.

"Um… nothing. Just going through some paperwork. Um… You're up early."

"I couldn't sleep," Draco admitted and moved forward purposefully.

Harry strode forwards and intercepted him, wrapping his arms around Draco's waist and pressing a kiss into his throat.

"What sort of paperwork?" Draco asked, peering over Harry's shoulder.

"Nothing much," Harry said casually.

"Your dissembling needs work, Gryffindor."

He detached Harry and moved around him, but Harry quickly moved to block him again. "Let's go downstairs. I think Winky made Battenburg cake."

Draco paused at the thought of cake, but then he frowned. "You will not distract me with the promise of cake. What is it you don't want me to see?"

Harry pouted. "It's not finished yet."

"What isn't finished?"

Harry sighed. "Oh all right, I know you'll come right back up here and snoop the instant my back is turned, even if I drag you out of here now, won't you?"

Draco stared at him guilelessly and Harry laughed before punching him lightly on the chest.

"Damn you. Fine, then. Have a look."

Harry turned around and picked up a large tome with a soft-looking brown leather cover. The leather was unembellished and Harry opened the book to the first page for Draco to peruse. On the left side was a large photograph of the ground floor study—before Draco had turned his attention to it. He wrinkled his nose at the profusion of black. Nearly everything in the room had been black, from the furnishings to the walls. It had been the gloomiest room Draco had ever seen. He often wondered what the Blacks had done there, because it certainly had not been an environment conducive to any sort of studying, unless the subject was Necromancy.

On the right hand side of the page was a photo of the same room after Draco's treatment. The black wood had been stripped down to the natural oak and lightened with a wash. The hideous black floors had been replaced with amber carpeting and the atrocious black and gold wallpaper had been demolished. Pale orange walls gave the room a warm Tuscan glow above the wainscoting. The fireplace was no longer a dark pit, but looked inviting beneath the new mantle and a vase full of yellow roses.

Draco was puzzled. He glanced at Harry and flipped through the book, which was more of the same. Page after page of before-and-after photos.

"What is the purpose of this?" he asked.

Harry fidgeted beside him, looking suddenly nervous. "You did such an amazing job fixing this place up that I thought you might want to do more," Harry said.

"Do more what?"

"Remodelling. Designing. Fixing things. Making it better. Whatever you want to call it."

"But I'm nearly finished," Draco said, still not grasping Harry's meaning.

"You're finished _here_ ," Harry said. "But I think other people should benefit from your talents. In a different way than previous," he added and narrowed his eyes.

"Still not following you, Potter," Draco said in a dangerous tone, not appreciating the reminder that soon he would be "finished" with Grimmauld Place in more ways than one, nor the reminder of his rentboy status.

Harry sighed and tugged a hand through his hair. "Well, Mafalda Hopkirk's sister Matilda has this huge house in Sussex. It's an atrocity, really, and Mafalda is constantly nagging her about getting rid of the huge collection of _things_ she has apparently accumulated since her husband died sometime in the last century, according to Mafalda…"

"Does this story have a point?" Most of the time Harry's babbling was adorable, but occasionally it made Draco want to shake him.

"Yes, of course. Matilda wants to meet with you regarding doing the same thing to her house that you've done here." Harry gestured airily, indicating the whole of Grimmauld Place with a sweep of his arm.

Draco refrained from gaping at him since his lips were already stretched into an irritated line. "She wants me to meet with her?"

Harry's head bobbed affirmative. "Matilda Hopkirk. Yes, here is her address and the meeting information. I told her you would owl her to confirm." He fumbled through the papers on the desk until he located a small card with nearly-illegible writing. He handed it to Draco eagerly, looking hopeful.

Draco tried to be suspicious, but it was impossible. Harry was simply not clever enough to have ulterior motives. Draco took the card and ran a hand over the cover of the book as he closed it. "I shall think about it," he allowed.

"Good," Harry said. "Now, suppose you tell me why the _Daily Prophet_ is suddenly printing glowingly positive stories about me."

"I'm certain I have no idea what you are talking about."

"Hmmm. I even received an invitation from Beatrice Smirch that included a formal apology and a request for an interview in which she is hoping that I will… how did she put it? She is hoping I will enlighten the public and promote positive changes within the Wizarding World or some such tripe. Quite the opposite of what she wrote about me after the gala, don't you think?"

Draco hefted the book and was careful not to cradle it like something precious. His fingers stroked surreptitiously over the edges of the binding where Harry could not see them. His throat felt strangely tight at the thought of Harry using his free time to put together the silly book.

"I don't pay much attention to the _Prophet_ ," Draco mumbled.

"Well, you should. It's amazing, really, the complete change in attitude. It's almost as though the staff has been threatened with something horrific if they wrote another vicious word about me."

Draco snorted. "Well, then, you might check with Granger. She always seemed to be rather vicious, judging from that unprovoked blow she tossed at me in school." He rubbed his jaw as if the memory brought back a twinge of pain.

Harry did not look convinced, but an owl fluttered in at that moment and landed on the table amidst the collection of photos and parchment. Draco's jaw tensed when he recognized the bird—it was standard Ministry issue.

Harry detached the message and sighed heavily as he read it. "Damn. Something urgent has come up. I have to go to the office."

"But it's late," Draco grumbled petulantly. "You were there all day, can it not bloody wait until tomorrow?"

"Kingsley wouldn't call me in unless it was important. Why don't you owl Matilda and I'll be home as soon as I can?"

Draco sighed, knowing that arguing would be a waste of time. Harry was an Auror first and Draco's… whatever he was… second.

Harry pulled Draco into an embrace before pressing kisses along his jaw and nibbling on his ear. The book was crushed between them and Harry's hands moved over Draco's back to cup his arse. Draco remained stiff in his embrace, not giving in to the tingles caused by Harry's hot breath. Harry chuckled.

"Brat. I'll be right back." With that, Harry pulled away and left the room to fetch his Auror robes and depart.

Draco sighed and carried the book back to his room where he looked at every page and then studied Matilda Hopkirk's information. Bloody Harry. Draco knew he was trying to save him.

ooOooOooOoo

"We have another victim of our mysterious Memory Charm," Kingsley said when Harry entered the Minister for Magic's office and noticed Arnold Peasegood seated in a chair, nibbling on the end of his wand.

"Perplexing. Perplexing," Peasegood muttered.

Harry sank into the chair next to Peasegood as a trickle of ice seemed to make its way into the centre of his stomach. "What is perplexing?" he asked, even though he suspected he would rather not know.

Kingsley flipped through some papers on his desk and handed a file across to Harry.

"You know Bernard Carversham's trial is in two weeks."

Harry nodded. He had largely forgotten about Bernard Carversham, even though it had been his arrest that had taken Harry to Draco Malfoy's doorstep. He opened the file with a sinking feeling.

"We have enough evidence to put Bernard away for a very long time," Harry said. "The evidence of his embezzlement is incontrovertible." He nearly bit his tongue for using such a Draco-ish word, but Kingsley did not seem to notice.

"Yes, but you know damn well that we have to get to the bottom of this Memory Charm business, especially now that a second victim has been brought to light. Carversham's lawyers will be all over this."

At Harry's hopeful look, Kingsley shook his head. "No, they don't know yet, but you know how long news lasts in this building. They will no doubt find out about it by morning. Carversham is already pushing them to persuade the Wizengamot that his crime was directly caused by the bloody Charm. We absolutely need to discover who cast it, and why."

Harry scowled. Frankly, he didn't give a damn about Bernard Carversham. The idiot could walk free for all Harry cared. He skimmed the file quickly and found what he sought. _Fuck_.

"I see you've located the connection," Peasegood said and nodded, leaning over Harry to point at the file. "This rentboy seems to be the only link between the new victim and Bernard Carversham."

"A rentboy," Harry repeated, fighting nausea.

"Yes, although if he cast the Memory Charm on both Carversham and Ms Robins we cannot locate a motive."

"What was Ms. Robins' crime?" Harry asked.

"Nothing, actually. She was admitted to St. Mungo's with recurring headaches. After several routine tests revealed no physical cause for her ailment, they called in Arnold, here."

Peasegood sat back and nodded, rather pompously. "It's standard procedure. I checked Ms Robins for signs of the Imperius Curse and discovered the same odd signature that I detected in Bernard Carversham. I believe her headaches are caused by the fact that the Charm was used to excess." Peasegood sniggered. "It seems she was very fond of this particular rentboy."

Harry swallowed through his suddenly tight throat and struggled to form words. "How… how do you know it was a rentboy?"

Peasegood tapped the edge of the file with his gnawed wand. "It's all there, Potter. She was reluctant to disclose her activities, but when we explained it was the only way to get to the bottom of her recurring health problem… well, she finally made a detailed accounting of her activities."

Kingsley said, "I sent Savage to bring in the elusive rentboy, whose name seems to vary from client to client, but he has apparently left his domicile for greener pastures. He has not been seen at his flat since shortly after Carversham was taken, which is likely not coincidental. He pays his rent in gold, so we have no paper trail to follow. He is clever, this fellow."

 _Very clever_ , Harry thought, feeling like he had swallowed a lump of ice.

"I'm assigning you to the case with Savage," Kingsley continued. "Time is of the essence. We have to find this rentboy as soon as possible."

Harry nodded obediently and wondered how the fuck he was going to bring up the subject with Draco.

The door burst open and Kingsley's Undersecretary rushed in. "Minister!" she cried. "We got an emergency call! There's been an accident in Erith!"

Kingsley got to his feet calmly as Angie thrust a note into his hands. He scanned it quickly. "Potter, Peasegood, you two come with me. Harry, you've been to Erith, have you not?"

Harry nodded, trying to remember the coordinates for Apparating to the small Kent town. Sometimes he thought Kingsley's ludicrous faith in him was a bit misplaced. Kingsley rounded the desk and gripped Peasegood's arm before Disapparating them both. Harry got to his feet and followed.

ooOooOooOoo

Draco set his book aside for the fifth time and slid out of bed. The downstairs clock had just chimed midnight. Where the fuck was Harry? With a frown, he walked to his bureau and opened a drawer. Beneath an assortment of jumpers two items were hidden. He pulled out the first and opened the cover to view the photo of him kissing Harry. The remaining pages were filled with articles about Harry and additional photographs. His favourite was a photo he had taken without Harry's knowledge. Harry had been asleep on the living room sofa wearing only a pair of unzipped jeans. Draco had Conjured a stuffed bear and placed it next to Harry's neck. Harry had looked innocent and adorable... and sexy. Draco could never look at the picture without smiling.

He closed the cover with finality and reached into the drawer to retrieve the item he sought; the mirror Harry had given him. Draco returned the scrapbook and shut the drawer before carrying the mirror back to the bed. He sat on the edge and trailed his fingers over the cold metal design on the back of the flat surface. He flipped it over and studied it—the pattern was intertwined ivy, gleaming in untarnished silver.

Draco turned it back and looked at his reflection in the mirror. He looked tired and dishevelled to his own eyes and he raised a hand to tuck a stray lock of hair back into place. He lowered the mirror to his lap and touched the glass lightly with his fingertips. The spell was on his lips, but he was suddenly afraid to speak the words. Did he really plan to check up on Harry like some worried spouse? It was no business of his if Harry planned to stay out all night.

He frowned, suddenly wondering if the message had really come from Kingsley. Was Harry meeting someone else from the Ministry? Was he already tired of Draco with months left to go in their agreement? He rolled his eyes at the ridiculous thought. If that were the case, Harry would simply ask him to leave instead of making appointments for him to redecorate the residences of old witches. Wouldn't he?

A sound from downstairs made Draco turn and shove the mirror beneath his pillow. He quickly affected a pose of relaxation and picked up his discarded book once more, pretending to be engrossed when Harry walked into the bedroom.

After one disdainful glance at Harry, the book slid from Draco's nerveless fingers, hit the edge of the bed and tumbled to the floor. Draco left the bed before the book hit the carpet and pulled Harry into a rough embrace without a single thought crossing his mind.

"Harry," he said softly as Harry sobbed against his throat. He was like a block of wood, stiff and unmoving in his embrace. Harry reeked of alcohol and Draco could feel pain radiating from him in waves. Something had happened. Draco wanted to ask what was wrong, but no sound would emerge.

"Draco," Harry choked and then his hands rose and clenched in the back of Draco's dressing gown as Harry held him so tightly he thought his ribs might crack under the pressure. Harry began to shake violently and Draco pressed soft kisses into his neck.

"It's all right," he crooned softly, not certain _at all_ that it was.

When Draco found it difficult to breathe from Harry's tight hold, he pushed at him lightly and Harry's hands fell away. Draco immediately reached up to unfasten the dark Auror robes. They seemed to symbolize everything that was wrong about their relationship and Draco could not get them off quickly enough. He wished he could forget that Harry worked for the Ministry and that he had bought Draco's services. For one blinding moment he wished they were merely two people in… He swallowed hard, unable to finish the sentence even in his own mind.

Harry had returned to a trancelike state, standing woodenly while Draco removed his robes, shirt, and trousers, tugging off his boots and socks along with the latter. Harry braced himself with one hand on Draco's head and he left it there while Draco remained kneeling at his feet, looking up into green eyes filled with incredible pain. Draco could not meet his gaze for long—it was too intense and perplexing. He wrapped his arms around Harry's hips and pressed a soft kiss into his abdomen.

"Come to bed," he said softly.

He got to his feet and pulled Harry gently to the bed where he removed his glasses and tucked him in carefully before rounding the footboard and climbing in on the other side, shedding the dressing gown as he went. Uncertainty gnawed at him and he wondered if he was, somehow, the cause of Harry's current state of mind. Had Harry really gone to the Ministry?

Harry rolled over and draped his arm over Draco's ribs before dragging him close. Draco let out a breath he had not realised he'd been holding. Harry buried his face in Draco's shoulder and held him tightly. To Draco's surprise, he began to speak.

"We were called to Erith," Harry said, so softly Draco could hardly hear him. Harry's lips tickled against his chest as he spoke. "In Kent. Just outside the Muggle village, actually. Very small wizarding population. Been there for centuries, apparently."

Harry stopped for so long that Draco thought he was finished speaking, or that he had fallen asleep. But then Harry's arm tightened and Draco pulled him closer to stroke one hand over his back in a soothing caress.

"The house was in a small valley with only a couple of neighbouring houses. An older witch was outside, hysterical. She was the one who called the Ministry. She… she threw herself on Kingsley and started screaming. Merlin, I can still hear it." Harry's hands clenched into fists, one curled near Draco's shoulder blades, the other brushing his navel.

"It was the house next to hers," Harry continued. "We could feel it as soon as we got close. The magical energy was massive, uncontained." Draco said nothing, but he had the feeling that Harry might have been the only one able to sense such a thing. "I couldn't…" Harry's voice broke.

Draco pressed his lips against the top of Harry's head, willing him to stop. He was not sure he wanted to know what had happened to bring Harry Potter to this state. Harry's went on doggedly, the way only a Gryffindor could manage, fighting onwards when any normal person would shut down or openly weep.

"Someone inside had cast a spell. I don't know who. It could have been the mo… the mother or the father." A sob escaped Harry's throat and his next batch of words came in a rush, as if it were the only way for him to get them out. "I ran towards the house despite the magical energy. Nothing was visible. The neighbour said she heard a huge sound, like something had _crackled_ next door and when she ran to investigate, she couldn't breathe. She knew something horrible had happened and… and…" Harry took a gulp of air and pushed on. "The spell seemed to suck the air from our lungs when we got close. I cast a Bubble Head Charm and rushed inside. The woman—I think she cast the spell. She was dead, but whatever she had unleashed was still active. Kingsley joined me and between the two of us we managed to nullify it."

Harry's voice had evened, turned monotone. Draco knew the worst was coming. He almost put his hands to his ears, not wanting to hear it.

"The man was in the kitchen. His wand was out, so perhaps he was the one who cast the spell. It's a mystery. He was dead, too, of course. They never had a chance; the spell was impossibly quick." Harry's voice began to shake, the monotone broken. "In the bedrooms a teenaged girl and the little…. buh… buh… the _boy_. Oh Merlin, Draco, he could not have been more than three." Harry broke in earnest then, drawing the gasping breaths of someone fighting not to sob aloud.

"Hush, now," Draco whispered.

"What a bloody waste!" Harry cried. "How could they be so stupid as to cast such a dangerous spell with children in the house? The girl probably just started at Hogwarts and he… I tried to revive them. They died of asphyxiation—I should have been able to save them. All they needed was air. Just _air_ , Draco. I tried… I tried."

Draco released Harry and reached up to grip his chin, forcing Harry to meet his eyes. The green was awash with unshed tears.

"Harry," Draco said gently. "Harry, you can't save everyone." With that, he lowered his head and kissed him, silencing all argument. He kissed Harry until they were the ones in danger of asphyxiation. Even then he stopped only long enough for them to catch their breath before he dove in again. Harry's numb passivity lasted through the second kiss, and then he seemed to come to life, returning Draco's kisses with eagerness that bordered on desperation.

Harry rolled onto his back, pulling Draco with him. His hands were twined in Draco's hair, holding him in place, as though afraid that if he let go Draco would stop kissing him, but Draco had no intention of stopping. He thought he might never stop. Harry's kisses were exquisite and Draco wondered why he had ever denied himself.

The lovemaking that followed was urgent, frenzied. Draco tried to take him gently, but Harry would have none of it, finally pushing Draco onto his back and straddling him in order to set his own pace, impaling himself completely before lifting nearly off and plunging downwards again. Draco had never felt anything like it. He was nearly mindless with the need to maintain control. It was imperative that Harry come first. He helped by stroking Harry's cock with his hands. He finally had to close his eyes tightly—the sight of Harry's determined arousal was too much. Draco's heart felt near to bursting with unnamed emotion.

Finally he felt Harry tighten around him and he opened his eyes in order to watch Harry come undone. Harry was a mess; his hair was damp and hung over his forehead, the strands not quite concealing the famous scar. He practically glowed with a sheen of sweat and Draco was glad he had not blown out the guttering candle next to the bed. Harry was a vision with his head thrown back and his lips slightly parted. His eyes snapped open and locked with Draco's the moment he came. Hot liquid splashed over Draco's abdomen and he felt his own orgasm shiver through him, curling his toes and blurring Harry for a moment as his vision nearly went white.

Harry kept moving until Draco was utterly spent, sliding atop his cock with delicious friction, and then he leaned down. His lips hovered over Draco's, silently asking permission. Never presumptuous, his Harry. Draco lifted his head and touched their lips together, having no intention of denying them ever again. Harry nearly crushed him in an embrace, but his kiss was tender, almost sweet, giving no hint of the intensity unleashed earlier. They kissed for long minutes, until the sweat dried on their bodies and Harry's radiant heat was not enough to keep Draco's toes from becoming chilled.

Harry rolled away then, and cast the charms to clean them before dragging the blankets over Draco and pulling them into their usual sleeping position—with Harry wrapped around Draco's back, curling him into a protective embrace that always made Draco feel oddly secure. He frowned and wondered what it would feel like to sleep without Harry's breath ghosting over the top of his head and his fingers brushing Draco's collarbone possessively.

He shook off the maudlin thought and tried to concentrate on sleeping. It worked so well that Harry's murmured words, barely heard, caught him by surprise.

"I can't save everyone," he said. "But I can try."

Draco smiled softly and lifted Harry's hand to press a kiss to his knuckles.

 _You already saved me_ , he thought and drifted off to sleep.


	11. Chapter 11

Harry studied Draco's face as he slept, remembering with a pang the first time he had done so. Draco looked even more beautiful now. The dark circles beneath his eyes were gone and the hollowness that had sharply defined his cheekbones had softened. Harry selfishly hoped living at Grimmauld Place had been good for Draco. He no longer had to worry about pulling customers and performing who-knew-what sorts of favours in order to make ends meet. Harry grimaced at the thought of Draco's profession. _Former profession_ , he thought fervently.

Draco stirred and his pale lashes fluttered slightly. His lids opened to reveal unfocused silver eyes and Harry smiled softly as Draco groaned.

"Are you watching me again?" he asked sleepily.

"Yes," Harry admitted.

"Why?" His eyes slid shut once more, but Harry noticed a tiny smiled curving his lips. Harry nearly groaned aloud at the thought of those lips kissing him— _kissing him_!—as they had done numerous times the previous night. Unable to stop himself, he reached out to caress the edge of Draco's jaw with his hand.

"Can't help it," he explained.

The smiled widened into a sardonic grin and Draco's eyes opened once more. He seemed about to speak, but whatever he planned to say was lost when his smile faltered. A pale hand curled into Harry's hair and pulled him down for a kiss.

As lips and tongues melded, Harry wondered vaguely why Draco allowed kisses now, when he had adamantly refused them before. Something had changed and he wasn't sure what, but he dared not ask, lest the question negate it. Draco had given him more than he had ever expected. He felt a rush of emotion and pushed Draco into the mattress.

"Draco, I love…" He faltered and pressed another kiss into the soft lips beneath his and added, "…the way you taste."

Draco's tongue flicked over his upper lip. "You're not so bad, yourself, Harry."

"I need to go to work." Harry moaned as his hand slid over Draco's abdomen to brush his knuckles across Draco's erection. Fuck, he would never tire of this man; not even if he lived to be a thousand.

"Yes, you should run along to the Ministry," Draco agreed and curled his hand around Harry's hard cock. Harry surrendered without a struggle. His job could bloody well wait. He took his time, making love to Draco with exquisite care. The addition of kissing made it glorious, adding an intimacy he had not known was missing. His lips caressed Draco's with every thrust, muffling his soft cries.

When it was over and Draco's release dried on Harry's fingers, he kissed him several more times to sustain himself through the morning. He still needed to talk with Draco about Bernard Carversham and Memory Charms, but not now. Not until he thought of a way to broach the subject without destroying everything.

"I'll be back for lunch," he promised.

Draco's reply was muffled by his kiss.

An hour later, Harry sat across from a smiling witch while he surreptitiously wiped the palms of his hands on his trousers. He tried to keep his features from disclosing his nervousness, but he did not want to have this discussion. He wanted nothing more than to return home and lose himself in Draco. The words _lose_ and _Draco_ seemed to echo in his head until they pounded against his temples. He wished he had thought to take a headache potion before coming in. The previous evening's events in Erith had faded to a dull ache, but they were far from forgotten.

"So, Margaret," Harry said pleasantly to Ms Robins, who interrupted him.

"Maggie," she said with a giggle. "No one calls me Margaret, except my mum, and then only when she's angry."

"Very well, Maggie," Harry corrected. "You apparently visited a particular male prostitute on several occasions?"

Her smile widened and she snickered. "Oh yes. _Several_ occasions." She twisted a finger into a curl of her mousy brown hair and looked at a faraway point over Harry's shoulder. He felt a flash of annoyance.

"Can you describe him?"

"Oh yes. Quite well, actually. I'll never forget him. His name is Lucas, although the other Aurors tell me that was most likely not his real name—why do I need to go over this story again, Auror Potter?"

"It's routine, Maggie. You might think of additional details if you repeat the facts more than once." It was a candid enough explanation. Harry was comfortable with the rationalisation, but the truth was that he needed to verify her story for himself.

She sighed. "I suppose. I don't want him to get into trouble, you know? He was just doing his job."

"He most likely won't be in any trouble. We just need to ask him some questions."

She brightened. "Oh good. Because he was… special." She made a dreamy sound and added, "Very special. And very handsome."

"Can you describe him?" Harry asked again reluctantly.

"Well, he was tall and blond, with the dreamiest grey eyes you've ever seen. And that smile… Oh it's to die for, Auror Potter. To die for. And the things he did to me…" A blush tinted her cheeks and her lips parted. Her eyes practically glazed over as she apparently relived the memory of her visits to Draco Malfoy. Nausea joined Harry's headache.

"And how… how many times did you seek out his… services?" Harry asked, nearly choking on the words.

Maggie giggled. "Oh, at least a hundred, I'd say. For the past seven or eight months." She frowned. "He disappeared recently. I do hope you find him, Auror Potter. If you do, please tell him that I miss him most desperately." She reached across the table and gripped his hand in entreaty. Harry resisted the urge to snatch his hand away with a snarl. Seven or eight months! Harry had tried to ignore Draco's profession. He had quite nicely blocked it from his mind, which was a simple enough process when Draco was in his bed and no one else's. It was not so simple when one of Draco's smitten clients sat across from him, when Harry could picture Draco's hands touching her skin and his mouth tasting her…

His voice was sharper than intended when he spoke. "You were informed that this rentboy, Lucas, might have used some sort of Memory Charm on you?"

She nodded, but looked puzzled. "Yes, but that makes no sense. I can remember everything about him. Aren't Memory Charms supposed to make people forget?"

"We think he may have used it differently. He might have wanted to _enhance_ your memories rather than erase them. He wanted you to remember the experience in a positive way because he wanted you to come back."

Maggie frowned. "Do you think so? Is that why I nearly drained my bank account seeking him out day after day? Because of some sort of spell?"

"What do you think?" Harry asked gently, feeling slightly guilty, even though he had been ready to hex her a moment ago. How could Draco have justified using such a spell on an innocent person? Not that she was exactly innocent, if she had sought Draco's services to begin with.  Harry's headache throbbed.

Maggie shrugged and then smiled. "I think it doesn't matter. Even if the memories are _enhanced_ , well, they are still my memories, right? I'll treasure them." Her smile faltered slightly and she added, "I would like the headaches to stop, though."

Harry pressed three fingertips into his temple. "Yeah, me, too," he said.

ooOooOooOoo

When Harry was gone, Draco lay in bed for a long time with his arms crossed behind his head, staring blindly at the ceiling. Something profound had shifted. He should _never_ have kissed Harry, not even once. Draco groaned and shut his eyes tightly, trying to block out reality—the reality that Harry was… He drew a shaking breath. Harry was becoming _everything_. The thought terrified him. How the fuck was he supposed to give Harry up after their "contractual obligation" ended?

Draco flung aside the blankets and glared at the sunlight peeking through the gap in the heavy curtains. He hated mornings. He climbed out of bed and walked to the wardrobe where he opened the doors to examine his clothing. His fingers brushed over the shirts and robes gently and he frowned. The selection had increased markedly—also Harry's doing. He could not seem to resist bringing something back for Draco every time he went shopping, which was surprisingly more often than Draco would have imagined.

Draco's instinct for self-preservation clamoured at him to escape before it was too late. A bit of fur glided beneath his fingertips and he smiled at the Viking vest. He thought about wearing it to surprise Harry on his return from lunch and nearly laughed aloud at the thought of Harry's expression. His grin faded as he sighed and leaned his head against the edge of the doorframe, knowing it was already too late.

ooOooOooOoo

The Pensieve memory put the cap on the potion of Harry's last hope. He had prayed all along that it wasn't Draco, that there was some other gorgeous blond, grey-eyed bloke out there Memory Charming unsuspecting victims. Harry had almost preferred to hold onto his denial, but Peasegood had dragged him into the Pensieve Room and encouraged him to dive into one of Maggie Robins' memories.

He could hardly refuse.

The memory was altogether too familiar. Draco's flat was instantly recognizable. Harry felt like weeping. He did not see Draco at first, but then he turned and saw Draco lounging against the door frame, as though he had just escorted Maggie inside. The smile on his face made Harry's heart clench. He had seen it a hundred times; he had foolishly thought it belonged to him alone.

Maggie gestured imperiously to Draco and he walked to her sinuously. The meek brunette had disappeared, replaced by a near-dominatrix. "On your knees," she said in a husky tone. "I want you on your knees for me."

Harry saw red for a moment. He wanted to leap forward and throttle the bitch who dared to speak to his Draco so imperiously.

 _Not my Draco_ , he reminded himself. _Not my Draco at all_.

The memory-Draco began to kneel and then everything went slightly fuzzy. Harry looked at Peasegood, who nodded.

"This seems to be the point where the Memory Charm begins. We recognize the signs now. You can clearly see the unreal quality of their surroundings." Peasegood spoke as pompously as usual, but he seemed distracted by the sight of Draco unfastening Maggie's skirt from his position on the floor. Harry looked away quickly.

Peasegood continued, "I have my assistant working tirelessly on it, of course."

Harry forced a smile. Peasegood's assistant was a brilliant young woman and everyone knew that she did most of the actual work in the department while Peasegood took the credit. "Of course," Harry said politely. "I think I've seen enough."

Peasegood smirked. "You haven't seen the interesting bit, yet. This rentboy is very creative."

Harry pulled out of the Pensieve and fairly flew across the room. He barely made it down the hall to the loo before he was violently ill.

ooOooOooOoo

When he stepped out of the Floo at Grimmauld Place, Draco cast a Tempus Charm and swore softly. There was no time to enact his dress-up plan for Harry. In fact, he would be surprised if Harry wasn't already—

"Draco," Harry called and Draco turned to see him sitting in one of the living room chairs, fully dressed, damn it all. Draco supposed they would survive one lunch break without mind-blowing sex. He would simply reserve the Viking outfit for Harry's return at the end of the day.

Draco smiled and walked into the room, where he set down the book Harry had made for him and dropped his outer robes over it surreptitiously. His appointment with Matilda Hopkirk had gone surprisingly well, although Draco was not quite ready to reveal the details to Harry. It would not do to let Harry know he had jumped so quickly at the job offer.

"Harry," he said and leaned down to tease Harry's lips with a barely-there kiss. "Sorry, I'm late."

Instead of pulling him into a deeper kiss, Harry only said, "Draco, I need to talk to you."

Draco straightened in surprise. "That sounds ominous," he replied, attempting levity despite the spike of unease that stabbed through him. The feeling did not diminish when confronted with Harry's obviously forced smile. Draco stepped away and sat stiffly on the sofa. He waited until the silence stretched between them like razor wire.

Harry fidgeted for a bit and then blurted, "Do you remember Bernard Carversham?"

Draco felt the colour drain from his face and he nodded stiffly. He said nothing, unwilling to volunteer additional information without knowing where Harry was going with the question.

"He was a client of yours, right?" Harry asked.

Draco nodded again and leaned back on the couch as if they were discussing the weather or some equally mundane topic. His fingers toyed with the fringe on a decorative throw that adorned one edge of the sofa.

"Is there anything you want to tell me about him?" Harry asked.

Draco felt a flash off annoyance. What did he want to know? Draco certainly had no intention of coughing up information regarding his activities with Bernard—or any of his other clients. He shrugged. "Not particularly. He was a substandard lay, if that's what you're getting at."

Harry's jaw clenched and he sat forward. His body was a tense line. "No, that is not what I'm getting at. I want to know what sort of Memory Charms you cast on Bernard and Merlin knows how many of your other customers."

Draco felt a smile twist his lips, even though he swore inwardly. Harry had not mentioned the bloody Memory Charms since their first few meetings; Draco had hoped the matter was dead and forgotten. He should have known his rotten luck would never allow such a thing.

"Fine. I admit to casting a Memory Charm on Bernard Carversham. What of it?"

"Most Memory Charms are used to make people forget, but yours apparently has a different purpose. Why did you use it on Bernard?" Harry tone was recriminating.

Draco's eyes narrowed. So, Harry didn't know. His secret was still safe. "Why do you think?" he countered, wondering what the Ministry's finest had come up with after analysing dear old Bernard's perverted little mind.

Harry's lips twisted. "According to Maggie Robins, you were the best fuck of her entire life. She could not resist coming back to you again and again. For months, apparently. Was it really necessary to toy with her mind? Surely she would have visited you often enough without magical prompting?"

Ah, so that was it. They thought Draco only used the Charm to _augment_ memories, not create them. He gave a noncommittal shrug. "I felt a bit of insurance was warranted."

Harry's eyes flashed. "Insurance?" he asked incredulously. "The girl thinks she's in love with you! She's fucking obsessed!" Harry pushed himself to his feet and began to pace before the chair. Draco watched him, half in admiration and half in dismay. Why was Harry so agitated? The spell was not that terrifying, although the damned Ministry might try to classify it as an Unforgivable, with Draco's luck.

He forced a smirk. "Ah, Maggie Robins," he said. "She was amusing."

Harry turned on him, looking furious. His hands were clenched and his eyes flashed. When he spoke his voice was nearly a snarl. " _Amusing_? I'm curious, Draco, what else do you find amusing? _Me_ , perhaps? Is my obsession with you as entertaining as Maggie Robins'? Do I amuse you, as well?"

Draco frowned and wondered what the fuck Harry was on about, but Harry continued viciously, "Is my desire for you a product of my own mind, or something that you have conveniently planted?"

Draco gaped at him, shocked out of his growing confusion. _The bastard!_ "You believe I would actually cast a Memory Charm on you? On _you_?" he demanded. He laughed bitterly at the irony. His unwillingness to risk that very thing had led to their current situation—a situation he had found frighteningly satisfying until this very moment.

Harry glared at him. "Are you telling me you have never modified my memories?" he asked. "Not even once?"

Draco shot to his feet. His hands shook before he clenched them into fists. "You complete _arse_. I cannot believe you would ask me that."

"Your indignation is noted, Draco," Harry said flatly. "Now answer the question."

Draco wanted to hit him. He welcomed the swell of rage that swept through his veins in an explosive tide, because it nearly drowned the unexpected and unwanted _hurt_ that blossomed from the centre of his being. Did Harry actually believe that everything they had experienced was _false_? Looking at the coldness in Harry's eyes and the determined set to his jaw Draco knew the truth. He wanted to laugh at his own stupidity. What had he expected? Had he thought Harry would believe in _him_? Had he actually thought he was more than just a toy the wonderful Saviour had picked up off the street? Had he honestly believed that Harry saw him as something other than a purchased commodity?

Hysterical laughter threatened to bubble forth, mocking him. Harry's demand echoed in his mind and Draco was not sure whether the urge to laugh or cry was the stronger. Despite everything Draco had done, everything he had sacrificed, Harry was only too willing to believe the worst of him. He felt like the biggest fool in Britain. He had surrendered his virginity and given up his freedom; he had even fallen in—

"Fuck you, Potter," Draco said hoarsely. The need to escape was overpowering. He could hardly breathe. He needed to get as far away as possible from Harry's accusatory tone and mistrustful gaze, before he did something unforgiveable. Or before he broke down completely.

Draco snatched up his robes and book and walked away so quickly it felt like flight.

He heard Harry's footfalls on the floor behind him. "Draco, wait!" Harry called.

He sensed rather than saw the hand reaching out to stop him, but by then his wand was in his hand and the spell was on his lips. Draco Disapparated without looking back.

ooOooOooOoo

Harry's hand closed over empty air and he cried out in frustration. Damn the man! He needed answers! It was past time to get everything into the open.

Harry stood where he was for long minutes until his anger ebbed, and then he dragged a hand through his hair. Damn it! He had handled the situation completely wrong. He had meant to speak to Draco calmly and rationally. He had not intended to sound accusatory, but damn it all, the thought of Bernard Carversham and Maggie Robins and Merlin knew _how many others_ touching Draco had nearly sent him over the edge. He wanted a fucking Time Turner so that he could go back and prevent Draco from ever becoming a bloody rentboy.

Harry sank down on the soft and shut his eyes. Rationally, he knew that he would never have found Draco if not for Bernard Carversham and the bloody case. He supposed he should be grateful that Draco had been for sale, or he never would have associated with Harry in the first place.

Harry sat forward suddenly and swept the table clean with a violent movement of his arm. "Fuck!" he yelled as a vase holding flowers smashed onto the floor, spilling water and petals haphazardly across the wooden planks. Winky popped into view next to him.

"Master Harry is needing something?" the house-elf asked, looking nervous.

"Master Harry is needing Master Draco," Harry said sardonically.

"Master Draco is not being home," Winky replied and eyed the mess.

"I know, Winky," Harry said tiredly. "Never mind. Please just… put the vase and flowers back the way they were. I'll be back later."

Winky frowned and waved her hand to replace the smashed vase and flowers, as though Harry had never destroyed them. He wished she could mend his heart as easily.

Harry pulled out his wand and went to find Draco. He needed to apologize.

Draco, however, was not to be found. Harry was certain he would find him at his flat, but it was empty. He Apparated from there to Narcissa's house, where it took him several minutes of pounding on her front door before he worked up the nerve to break in. The house had an unused air, as though no one had been in residence for quite some time. Harry wished he had paid more attention when Draco spoke of his mother, not that he had ever volunteered much information other than, "She's fine," or, "We met for tea."

Harry realized now that he knew next to nothing about Draco's life beyond the walls of Grimmauld Place. It had not seemed to matter as long as Draco's every departure was accompanied by the promise to return. Harry had not begrudged him his Sundays off. Harry had not wanted to stifle him. Now he wished he had been clingier, because he had no idea where else to search for him.

His lunch break had long passed by the time Harry returned to his office, and paperwork demanded his attention. He filled it out listlessly, trying to forget the spell that had claimed the lives of the family in Erith, as well as the subsequent comfort he had found in Draco's arms. He could only pray Draco would be waiting for him when he returned home.

ooo

Harry set the box of expensive chocolates on the table and dropped wearily into a chair. Winky placed a plate of food before him and stood nearby expectantly.

"He hasn't been back?" Harry asked tonelessly.

"No, Master Harry," she replied.

Harry picked up his fork and poked at the potatoes. He felt too sick to eat. The argument with Draco replayed over and over in his mind. Why had he accused Draco of casting a Memory Charm on him? It had been nothing more than a passing notion hurled in anger. He knew bloody well that Draco had never used the spell on him. Harry had not even been tempted to seek out an Obliviator to verify it, despite Hermione's nagging.

Harry rubbed a hand through his hair and glanced at Winky, who nodded encouragingly. He forced a smile and raised a forkful of food to his lips before chewing by force of habit. The action seemed to satisfy the house-elf and she popped out. Harry set the fork back on the plate and swallowed. It tasted like sandpaper.

He missed Draco's presence more than he would have thought possible. Not merely for the obvious, but also less tangible things. He missed Draco's favourite teacup sitting next to his on the table. He missed the way Draco muttered to himself and nibbled on the edge of his thumb when he was deep in thought. He missed the way any casual sound of Harry's would draw the grey eyes toward him. He missed the sound of footsteps on the stairs that told him he wasn't alone.

 _This is how things will be when he leaves for good_ , Harry realized. Harry would go back to living alone, eating his meals in solitude, listening to the sound of his own heartbeat, and staring at the blank walls. Draco would not be next to him feeding him bites of food with his fingers, wiping Harry's lips with a napkin, and complaining about the state of the floors in the fourth storey washroom.

An owl fluttered into the room and dropped onto the table next to Harry's plate before lifting its leg to allow Harry to remove the message. He untied the gold ribbon, hoping desperately it was from Draco. His heart dropped into the pit of his stomach when he realized that it was, in a roundabout fashion, from Draco, although the message came from Gringotts.

_The sum of 500,000 Galleons has been deposited into your Gringotts account._

Draco had refunded him. It was over.


	12. Chapter 12

Harry's first night alone was a nightmare. He felt it prudent to sleep in his old room, even though it had been completely renovated by Draco and bore no resemblance to the original. Harry had seldom slept at Grimmauld Place prior to moving Draco into the house, preferring his flat across town. That was no longer an option, as Harry had allowed the lease to lapse. He would have to start looking for a new apartment in order to escape the memories of his time with Draco. It was a depressing thought.

The bed was firmer than he was used to and the new bedding seemed rough. The room felt impersonal—like a hotel room—and in the wee hours of the morning Harry left the bed and padded down the hall to the bedroom he had shared with Draco. As he crawled between the sheets, he caught a whiff Draco; his scent was everywhere.

Harry reached out and pulled Draco's pillow close, snuggling it to his chest. His throat closed up and he kept his eyes shut lest blinking cause the stinging wetness beneath his lids to fall. His heart felt like a black hole.

"I miss you," he whispered into the empty darkness.

ooo

Three days later there was still no trace of Draco. Harry was beginning to go slightly mad. He had returned to Narcissa's house and ransacked the place without even attempting to be subtle. He only hoped she would return and find her house in disarray. Harry had even left a calling card in hopes that Narcissa would track him down. He planned to use any means at his disposal to find her son.

Kingsley was breathing down his neck to "find that rentboy" and Harry wanted to shout at him that it was his only priority. Unfortunately, he had run out of ideas. Draco's flat had been rented to a young couple. The landlord had allowed Harry to cart away the few belongings Draco had left behind. Harry put them in storage in the attic at Grimmauld Place, still hoping against hope that Draco would return. Draco had not even come for his clothing and personal items, apparently content to leave everything behind in his haste to escape.

Harry doodled on the margin of an incomplete report, unable to concentrate on the task at hand. He had no energy for the mundane trivialities of his job. He hated paperwork at the best of times and now it was sheer torture.

Ron spared him by popping his head in the door. He started to speak, but his jaw stayed open in apparent shock. "Bloody hell, Harry. What happened to you?"

Harry glared at him balefully. His eyes felt like rocks scraping the insides of his sockets. He had tossed and turned all night before finally falling asleep thirty minutes before his alarm went off. "Are you here for a reason?" he snapped.

"Maybe we should have some tea, first. Or coffee," Ron suggested.

Harry rubbed his eyes and nodded. "Coffee sounds great."

After Harry poured a cup of the black liquid sludge that passed for Ministry coffee, Ron ventured, "Trouble with the… boyfriend?"

Harry looked at him in surprise. It was the first time Ron had mentioned Harry's proclivities since the gala, seeming content to ignore Harry's announcement completely and live in denial. "Yeah, you could say that."

Ron nodded sympathetically. "Well, if he knows what's good for him, he'll grovel at your feet until you make up with him." Ron coughed and grinned sheepishly. "If, um, you know, if that's what you want."

Harry blinked at him for a moment and then chuckled. "What if I told you it was Draco Malfoy?" he asked before he could stop the words. He grimaced. Apparently lack of sleep and bad coffee was not a good combination.

Ron gaped at him until Harry thought he'd been hit with a Stunner. He poked Ron in the arm.

"You can't be serious," Ron said finally.

Harry nodded and took another drink before shuddering. "Afraid so."

"Draco Malfoy?"

Harry tried to smile and knew it probably looked more like a grimace.

"And you're okay with that?" Ron asked carefully.

Harry shrugged and his attempt at amusement faded. "It doesn't matter. He left me."

Ron drew himself up indignantly. "He what? _He_ left _you_? That bastard!"

Harry looked at him in surprise.

Ron coughed. "I mean, if you liked him, he must have had some good qualities, right? And, um…" Ron trailed off and blushed furiously, possibly thinking about what sort of _good qualities_ Draco might have had. He coughed. "Anyway, if you want I can go and have a chat with him, maybe."

Harry felt a rush of affection for Ron that made the ache in his chest slightly easier to bear. "Thanks, Ron. I'll try to work this one out on my own, yeah?"

Ron looked relieved as he nodded. "Oh, by the way, Kingsley wants to see you."

"You didn't think to mention that until now?"

"Trust me, you needed coffee first."

Harry stared morosely into the murky depths of his cup and wished he had never heard of Memory Charms.

Kingsley looked nearly as tired as Harry felt. His coffee mug was the size of a German beer stein and he gulped from it as they spoke. Peasegood was also present—he looked like death warmed over and much of his pomposity seemed to have evaporated. Savage entered the room just as Harry sat down.

"Good. Now that we're all here, Arnold, please fill us in."

Peasegood listlessly flipped through a file that rested on his knees. "We finally got a break on the Carversham case," he said tiredly and rubbed one temple. "Mary has been working tirelessly, especially since it looks as though we will never find the elusive rentboy—who might have used Polyjuice Potion, for all we know."

Kingsley cleared his throat. "The point, Arnold."

Peasegood nodded and started to yawn before suppressing it with a snap of his jaws. "My apologies, Minister. It turns out that the rentboy was more skilled than we anticipated. The spell was very complex and well administered. It's fascinating, actually, and we still don't know how he does it."

Kingsley cleared his throat slightly.

Peasegood nodded, looking like a doll with a broken neck for a moment. "The spell he used was not a typical Memory Charm; it was more of a Memory _Creation_ Charm. It's beautifully done, really, and we would love to find this man and determine exactly how he casts it. The applications for situations warranting Obliviation would be boundless."

"Arnold," Kingsley warned.

Peasegood scowled. "Regardless, we discovered the purpose of the Charm. It was not to enhance memories, as we first suspected, but rather to imbed a memory of something that _never happened_." Peasegood snickered, giving a hint of his usual personality. "It turns out our rentboy did not have sexual relations with Bernard Carversham at all. Bernard only _thought_ he did. The same is true of Ms Robins. The crafty rentboy would take their funds and then spell his clients to believe they had achieved sexual bliss. It's brilliant."

Harry was stunned. His exhausted mind could scarcely process the revelation.

Kingsley barked a laugh. "Excellent work, Arnold! Does Carversham know?"

Peasegood nodded. "The evidence was supplied to his solicitors. Apparently he was quite annoyed. He demands retribution."

Savage chuckled loudly. "He wants to sue a rentboy for not providing services? I don't think he would find the Wizengamot to be sympathetic."

"He never had sex with any of them?" Harry asked stupidly.

Peasegood shook his head. "We would need to find more of his clients to be sure, but from the quality of the spell and the finesse with which it was cast, I'm wagering the fellow used the Charm frequently. For all we know, he could be untouched." Peasegood tittered. "A virgin rentboy."

Harry pushed his chair back, feeling dizzy. "I need… Merlin, I'm not feeling well." He bolted and made it outside the door where he braced a hand against the wall, fighting black spots in his vision.

Savage poked his head out. "You okay, Harry?"

"Fine," Harry said, waving him off. "Something I ate. Be right back."

He pushed away from the wall and entered the nearest loo where he splashed cold water on his face and stared blearily into the mirror. _A virgin rentboy_. He shut his eyes tightly, recalling Draco on their first night together. Fuck, Draco had been so nervous, even at the restaurant before they even got to Harry's flat. The aborted blowjob should have been his first clue—it was entirely possible that Draco had never performed one before. Harry gripped the white porcelain of the sink tightly. How could he not have seen it?

Draco had allowed Harry to be his first. And not just his first, but apparently his _only_. And Harry had accused him of terrible things in a fit of fucking misplaced jealousy. He drew a sobbing breath and splashed more water on his face, drenching his collar and the front of his robes.

"I am such an idiot," he snarled.

Harry took the rest of the day off and searched Grimmauld Place with renewed determination, only remembering the mirror he had given Draco when he stumbled across his own mirror in a forgotten pocket of his Auror robes. He ran his fingers over the silver edges and hoped Draco had taken the twin mirror with him. After taking a deep, steadying breath, he sat down on the edge of the bed and concentrated on the mirror.

The reflective surface remained dark. Draco had probably thrown his mirror out, or stuffed it into the bottom of a chest with mementos of things he would rather forget. Harry sighed and set the mirror aside. He walked to Draco's dressing table to touch each of the items left behind. There was a bone comb that Draco loved, and his favourite cologne, and an assortment of silver chains Harry had purchased for him. A decorative tray held a handful of coins, a wrapped toffee, and a folded piece of paper.

Harry took the paper and unfolded it carefully. Draco's handwriting was almost artistic. The words made Harry smile sadly.

**_Cerulean blue_ **

**_Neptune blue_ **

**_Stormcloud grey_ **

**_Mercurial silver_ **

**_Stonehenge_ **

**_Sandstone beige_ **

_Paint colours_ , Harry realized, amused by the names. He had seen Draco spend hours perusing colour samples that all looked identical to Harry. To him, green was green and blue was blue and Cerulean was just a fancy word for…

Harry stared at the list, tore out his wand, and Disapparated.

ooOooOooOoo

Draco followed the house-elf down the hall, a feat easier said than done, as it involved skirting far too many large pieces of furniture, copious amounts of greenery, and bizarre oddities of every sort, such as an umbrella stand that bore an uncanny resemblance to an elephant's leg. For the elephant's sake, Draco hoped it was faux.

Matilda Hopkirk waved at him from the garish sofa. Draco nearly blanched at the colour, which resembled a forcible encounter between a watermelon and chocolate custard. An open door across the room led to a tiny library, Draco remembered, stuffed with more books than the library at Hogwarts, and ten times dustier.

"Draco, my dear!" she cried. "Come sit down and have some tea."

"Good afternoon, Matilda," he said and squeezed her proffered fingers. "Tea would be lovely."

He sat on a comfortable chair across from her and smiled. She was a batty old girl, but her tea was top-notch. The house-elf poured two cups and added a generous amount of sugar to both.

Draco gestured towards several large design spreads on the table. "Did you have a chance to look at my selections for the dining room?" he asked.

"Yes, dear. They are lovely, especially this one, I think." She tapped at the board that happened to be Draco's favourite. He relaxed a bit. At least she had _some_ taste. She asked, "Would you mind enlarging the text? My eyes are not what they once were." She blinked at him and he wondered why she didn't wear spectacles. Then again, it might explain why her house was such an atrocity; perhaps she couldn't see it.

He pulled out his wand and waved it over the board, enlarging the words that described his plan for Matilda's outdated dining room. She reached out and plucked the wand from his fingers. He blinked at her in surprise.

"Goodness me! Don't you take care of this, Draco? Youth these days. Let me guess, you are far too busy to take the time for proper wand care?" She got to her feet and hobbled towards the door, taking his wand with her. "I believe I have some of Ebenezer's old wand polish around here somewhere. Now where did I put that?"

"Matilda, honestly, my wand is fine—"

"Don't be a silly goose," she admonished. "I'll be right back." She pattered out, trailed by her house-elf.

Draco suppressed a groan and sank back into the chair cushion with a sigh. He knew that arguing with her was a waste of time. Matilda could be utterly single-minded. He sipped his tea and prepared for a long wait. Searching for a single jar of wand polish would be like seeking a needle in a haystack in this overstuffed mausoleum.

The door slammed shut suddenly and Draco sat up in surprise when he heard the lock click. He set his tea on the table and stood, frowning.

"Matilda?" he called.

"Draco," said a familiar voice behind him. Draco stiffened and then closed his eyes as a multitude of suppressed emotions flooded through him. He should have guessed. Potter had gotten him the job, after all.

Draco continued forward and grabbed the door handle before wrenching at it forcibly. Locked. The sturdy oak did not even rattle. The bastard had been hiding in Matilda's library the whole time, and she had been in on it, stealing his wand!  The untrustworthy old bint!

"Draco, please." Potter's voice was pleading.

Draco resisted pounding his head against the door—barely.  "I have nothing to say to you," he snapped.

"Then just listen. You're right to be angry. I don't blame you. I said things I never should have said. Stupid things." Potter's voice grew steadily closer and Draco fought the need to pound on the door and shout out for Matilda, even though he was doubtful she would help him.

Potter continued, "I know you did not use a Memory Charm on me."

Draco's jaw clenched. "Had yourself checked out at the Ministry, did you?" he snarled bitterly, even though he'd told himself he wasn't going to talk to Potter.

"No. I didn't need to."

That was a surprise. Draco almost turned around. Almost. His hand unclenched from the door handle.

"Your super Auror powers allowed you to figure it out for yourself?"

Potter made a whisper of sound that was almost a snort. "Hardly. I just… well, I know what I felt… what I still feel, and I know that it is not spell-induced."

Draco said nothing. His forehead dropped to the wood of the door and he listened intently, hating himself for the anxiety that gripped him at the very sound of Potter's voice. Over the past few days he had convinced himself that he hated the man, especially during his nearly-psychotic rage and subsequent case of maudlin depression.

A touch on Draco's shoulder made him stiffen. After a brief pause the fingers fell away.

"Draco, I'm sorry. Please come back."

Draco drew a steadying breath and ignored the words. Potter was a fool and Draco was finished with make-believe. "You don't own me any longer, Potter."

"I never owned you to begin with. In the beginning I convinced myself that what I wanted was the same thing that everyone else wanted. The chance to touch you and hold you and… be with you."

Draco swallowed heavily. Potter's soft words conjured up too many memories. The touching and holding and _being with_ had always been good. It had been amazing, but it was not enough. Strangely, it was not enough.

Potter kept talking. "I was fooling myself. I spent every waking moment trying to hold onto the idea that what I felt for you was nothing more than lust, trying desperately to believe that our relationship was simply that of rentboy and client."

Draco's brow wrinkled as he tried to make sense of Potter's words. Despite the fact that his palms were sweating and his heart pounded foolishly, Draco just wanted out. A clean break was the best. Couldn't Potter see that? The Saviour of the Wizarding World did not have affairs with former Death Eater prostitutes. Draco wanted to forget it had ever happened and if Potter would stop babbling and see reason, he would feel the same.

"Our _relationship_ , as you so quaintly put it, _was_ that of rentboy and client. Please do not try to tell me you think it was more than that." Draco made his tone as scathing as possible. "Do you honestly expect me to return to your house and resume our fake life of domesticity so that you can play pretend? Go and find another whore, Potter. I am finished with you."

He heard Potter draw a sharp breath and winced, knowing without looking that the salvo had struck. "It _was_ more than that. I think you know it was more than that." Potter sighed explosively and Draco envisioned a hand was pushing into the black hair, tugging the locks in frustration.

"Now you are presuming to think for me," Draco said dryly.

"Don't be an arse," Potter snapped.

Draco spun around angrily, which was a grave mistake. Potter looked terrible. Dark circles ringed his eyes and he had apparently forgotten to shave. His hair was a fright and his shirt was buttoned incorrectly, sticking up next to his throat higher on one side than the other. Honestly, the idiot needed a keeper. Draco struggled to hold onto his rage. The very sight of him did strange things to Draco's rationality. It had all seemed so clear to him that very morning; he and Potter were better apart. And now this. One look into Potter's soulful green eyes and Draco was ready to capitulate. Already he wanted to reach out and fix the askew collar and then fold the obviously exhausted man into a soothing embrace, and kiss away the lines of worry on his forehead… Draco mentally shook himself and took refuge in sarcasm.

"I am an arse, Potter. You've proclaimed it yourself more than once. I am also a former Death Eater and an unscrupulous caster of indiscriminate Memory Charms. In fact, you are not even here right now. You only _think_ you are. Therefore, you should leave."

Potter's lips curled into a bitter-looking smile and Draco glared. "Nice try, but I already told you I don't believe you ever used a Memory Charm on me."

"Because that's what I want you to believe, Potter. My Memory Modification Charms are very good. Now go away."

"I'm not finished yet."

Draco rolled his eyes and reminded himself that when Potter's lower lip jutted in that particular fashion it was not sexy or adorable. Draco took a firm grip on himself and crushed the ridiculous urge to kiss the pout from Potter's face. He resolutely skirted Potter and stalked back to his chair.  He sat down and picked up his teacup. "Well, I am finished. Leave or stay. It doesn't matter to me."

Draco took a drink of tea and then realized it had been a mistake. He paused with the teacup hovering over the saucer. Both of his hands were shaking—the cup would doubtlessly rattle if he tried to place it back atop the saucer. He leaned forwards and placed both items carefully on the table next to one another. Let Potter make of it what he would.

Potter did not seem to notice the tea at all. He muttered a spell and sent the table skittering halfway across the room before he dropped to his knees at Draco's feet.

"Then I'm staying," Potter said. "And I'm going to keep talking until you listen to me." He looked at Draco imploringly through his annoyingly green eyes and his stupid spectacles and Draco looked away in order to remind himself that he did not care about Harry Potter anymore. He reminded himself several times.

Potter placed a tentative hand on his knee, disrupting Draco's mental reminders. His mind instantly plunged back to the night Potter had requested six months of _exclusivity_. Draco's lips twisted. He should have known they wouldn't make it half that long. He had nearly forgotten how warm Potter was—his hand was like a Warming Charm.

"You can't tell me you feel nothing for me," Potter said imploringly.

"I feel nothing for you," Draco snapped, keeping his eyes firmly on the window even though Matilda's choice of curtains was even more heinous than her sofa selection.

Potter leaned forwards until his thighs pressed against either side of Draco's calves and his abdomen touched Draco's knees. "All right, you stubborn Slytherin, I suppose you _can_ tell me, but do you mean it? Can you look me in the eye and tell me you don't care for me?"

Draco wished Potter's nearness did not affect him, but heat was already curling through his legs and moving higher. He steeled himself and met Potter's green eyes steadily. "I. Feel. Nothing. For. You," he said.

The lie seemed to crumple Potter.  "All right," he said softly and slid away like a shadow, taking his heat with him. Draco felt suddenly cold. Potter got to his feet and pulled out his wand. "I've been a fool, it seems. I'll leave you alone from now on."

With that, Potter flicked his wand towards the door and it unlocked with an audible click. Before Draco could move, Potter Disapparated.


	13. Chapter 13

Harry sat on the couch with both feet propped on the tea table and a bottle of Firewhiskey between his legs. Winky fidgeted next to him.

"Is Master Harry being hungry? Winky can be preparing Master Harry's dinner."

"Master Harry has dinner," he replied and patted the side of the bottle. He had consumed over half the contents already and he was starting to feel pleasantly numb.

"Firewhiskey is not to be making a good dinner," Winky said disapprovingly.

"Yes, Winky, I know. But Master Harry has a very large hole in his heart. A hole that he dug himself by being _stupid and blind_. And heart holes cannot be filled with food, Winky, they can only be filled with precious alcohol. Lots and lots of alcohol. Enough to drown in, probably. So why don't you be a good girl and bring me another bottle, yes? Perhaps two."

Winky hesitated, but said nothing and popped out. After a few moments, she returned with two bottles of Firewhiskey and a tray full of sandwiches. The centre of the tray was piled high with fruit.

"Master Harry might be getting hungry later," she explained and disappeared before Harry could protest. He shrugged and set both bottles on the couch within reach before taking another swig from the open one.

Draco's words played through his head, over and over. He had been unable to silence them and hoped the second bottle would do the trick. _I feel nothing for you_. A bitter smirk twisted his lips and he raised the bottle in a mock toast.

"To you, Draco. May you find happiness with someone who is not me," he said aloud. He took another drink, feeling pleased with his magnanimous toast. He thought it was very generous of him to wish the best for someone who had stomped his heart flat. Of course, it was Harry's own fault for believing in something that apparently did not exist. Draco had been an astounding actor.

He debated making another toast and possibly sending Draco a note suggesting that he join a theatre group rather than waste his considerable talent. After all, he had fooled the Chosen One into believing they had something special.

Harry snorted. "Something special," he muttered and then frowned. Truth be told, he still thought Draco was special.

The front door opened and Harry threw his head back against the couch with a groan. It had to be Hermione, no doubt coming to nag him again about getting proper sleep and adequate food, as she had been for the past three days. At least she had not come flat out and said, "I told you so."

"Plan on drinking yourself to death, then?"

Harry's eyes snapped open and he stared into Draco's face, which was curiously smirk-free despite the sardonic tone of his words. Harry's brow wrinkled and he wondered if he had slipped into an alcoholic coma before concocting the blond vision.

"I'll most likely pass out before then," Harry said reasonably, deciding that even a figment-of-his-imagination Draco was better than no Draco at all. He patted the couch next to him. "Come have a sit down and a drink. Or are you just here to twist the knife a bit deeper before you leave me for good?"

Draco hesitated and then strode forward to sit next to Harry, distant enough that Harry would have to reach out to touch him. Harry held out the partially full bottle. "I'd pour it into a glass, but I can't be arsed to fetch one right now. I'd most likely fall down on my way to the sideboard, and you know where they are, anyway."

Draco took the bottle and Harry wrapped his fingers around the neck of a fresh one before twisting off the cap. He watched approvingly as Draco took a swig from Harry's former bottle. A trickle of amber liquid dribbled from the corner of his mouth and down the side of his throat.

A fresh wave of _want_ swept through Harry and he looked away morosely. That ship had sailed, apparently. He sighed heavily and tipped his head back against the sofa once more. He closed his eyes and took a gulp of Firewhiskey. It burned its way down his oesophagus and settled in his stomach with a warm glow.

He wondered vaguely why Draco had returned. To pick up his favourite comb, most likely.

"Are you going to eat those?" Draco asked and Harry cracked open an eye to see Draco motion towards the tray of sandwiches.

He wrinkled his nose. "I don't think so."

Draco reached for a sandwich and Harry shut his eyes again. He took another long gulp of mind-numbing alcohol, wishing it would do something to deaden the frisson of longing he could not seem to suppress at Draco's nearness.

Harry drank steadily while Draco ate and neither of them spoke. Everything was beginning to blur around the edges and Harry shifted sideways to prop an elbow on the back of the couch and provide a brace for his head. He stared at Draco with a bemused smile. Winky had lit the fire and it backlit Draco, making the tips of his hair gleam.

"I've been an arse to you, haven't I?" Harry asked finally.

Draco sighed. "Look, Harry—"

"Did I say I'm sorry?" His brow wrinkled and he struggled to remember, but merely focussing on Draco took effort. "I meant to, but it seems everything I say to you comes out wrong. I go over it and over it in my head, and then when I see you it all flies out the window. I can't seem to think clearly when you're around." He snorted. "Good job you won't be around, yeah? Maybe I'll get smarter."

"Harry, I'm sorry for what I said at Matilda's."

"No need to apologize," Harry replied. "If you hadn't been so brutally honest, I would probably have kept following you around like a pathetic puppy for the rest of your life."

"About that—"

"I've been going out of my mind for the past three days, searching for you. I have to hand it to you, when you disappear you do it completely. Your mother will probably hunt me down and destroy me when she sees her house."

Draco grimaced. "I know. Luckily, she isn't planning to come back for a while."

"I'll set it to rights," Harry promised. "I was just… desperate. I didn't mean to accuse you of using a Memory Charm on me; I think I went a bit mad when I saw Maggie Robins' memory of you in a Pensieve. At the time I didn't know it was false. I felt like the world's biggest bastard when I discovered you didn't actually sleep with your clients."

Draco stared at him. "You know about that?"

Harry nodded. "Peasegood's brilliant assistant figured it out. They want you to teach them the spell." Harry laughed. "First they wanted me to arrest you and now they want to hire you as a consultant."

  
"You knew it was me all along and yet you never arrested me. Why not?"

Harry smiled sadly, amazed that the answer to the question wasn't visible in his face and in the way his eyes drank in the sight of the man next to him. Maybe it was visible and Draco just didn't want to see it. "I feel stupid enough without revealing that."

"You've never been stupid, Harry."

He laughed shortly and took another swig from his bottle, trying to ignore the way his heart fluttered at the offhand compliment. Merlin, he was such a loser. "Oh yes, I have. As you said, I was stupid to… how did you put it? Play pretend? The pathetic thing is that I really wish I had it all back, even if none of it was real. It was real for me."

With that, Harry closed his eyes, sighed once, and drifted away.

~~O~~

Draco swore inwardly when Harry's eyes shut and the bottle tipped dangerously.

"Harry?" he asked gently. He took the Firewhiskey bottle from Harry's limp hand and set it on the table with his own. Harry's jaw was still propped on his hand, but he was beginning to list forward. Draco slid closer and wrapped an arm around Harry to pull him into an embrace.

"I'm the stupid one, Harry," he admitted as he nuzzled the black hair. The moment Harry had Disapparated from Matilda Hopkirk's, Draco knew he had made a huge mistake. Despite three long days of listing the reasons why a relationship between them would never work, Draco had kept coming back to the fact that for several weeks they had been happy. Not just content or satisfied, but ludicrously, ridiculously _happy_.

Draco sighed and pulled out his wand. He cast a Lightening Charm on Harry and then picked him up. He carried his burden up to their room and set about undressing Harry. He was already barefoot and it was a simple matter to remove his trousers. The jumper was a bit trickier, as its tight neckline had to be gently navigated over Harry's head. He stirred as Draco pulled the material away.

"Sex now?" Harry mumbled.

Draco smiled. "I don't think that would be a very good idea at the moment. You need to sleep. You'll definitely feel all of that Firewhiskey in the morning."

He pulled back the blankets and then manoeuvred Harry beneath them. As he tucked them around the prone man, he heard Harry mumble once more. Draco's brow furrowed and he leaned closer.

"Love you," Harry breathed and his fingers touched Draco's in a barely-there caress. "I love you, Draco."

Then he rolled over and went to sleep, oblivious to Draco's shock.

_Merlin_. The words were not just alcohol-induced babbling; Draco was sure of it. They sounded far too natural to be anything but the truth. And Harry was a Gryffindor.

Draco walked to the window and opened it for a moment to drink in the night air, hoping it would steady his quaking nerves. He had told Harry the exact opposite. _I care nothing for you_. Fuck, the words felt like acid eating through his soul. Yes, he had been angry and yes, he had been so certain that leaving Harry was the intelligent thing to do, but he had never intended to hurt him so deeply.

He leaned his head against the glass and wished he had consumed more Firewhiskey. Maybe it would make everything easier to bear. A cool gust of air ruffled his hair and he looked back at Harry before closing the window. He didn't want Harry to catch a chill during the night.

_I should leave_ , he thought as he turned back to look at the sleeping man _, he deserves better than me_.

~~O~~

Harry woke up and immediately wished he hadn't. Dear Godric, it felt like a flock of Cornish Pixies had taken up residence in his skull and started a band using pots and pans. He kept his eyes closed and tried to take in his surroundings by feel alone. Softness beneath his cheek was his first clue. A pillow; therefore he must be in bed. It was quite comfortable, so it was probably his own bed, although he did not remember pouring himself into it. What did he remember?

Firewhiskey. Quite a lot of it... and Draco. Harry's eyes flew open. It was thankfully dim in the room, so the muted brightness did not increase his headache exponentially. An unoccupied pillow met his gaze and he felt a crushing weight settle back onto his chest, familiar now. Draco must have left for good during the night. Harry's brow wrinkled and he tried to remember what he had said the night before. He regretted drowning himself in alcohol—perhaps he would have been able to sway Draco into staying if he had been more coherent.

_Who am I trying to fool_? he thought bitterly.

He sat up and only then noticed Draco asleep in a chair next to the bed. Harry froze, afraid to move or even breathe lest Draco was only a dream.

Draco stirred as if the weight of Harry's stare alone was enough to awaken him. His grey eyes slowly opened and then locked with Harry's, who realized at that moment that he would do _anything_ to keep Draco from leaving again. Slowly, Harry pushed back the blankets and held out his hand, begging without words.

Draco pushed himself out of the chair, walked straight to the bed, and slid into Harry's arms. Harry held him so tightly he feared his limbs would never unlock.

"Draco," he whispered brokenly. "Don't ever leave me."

"I tried," Draco said quietly. "I tried to leave and I only made it halfway across the room."

Harry felt tears stinging his eyes and he didn't care. "Please stay with me," he begged.

"I'll be here," Draco said, "until you send me away." It sounded like a promise.

Harry pulled him into a kiss, struggling to breathe against the ache in his heart; he could not quite believe Draco's words. Despite the urgency, his kiss was gentle; he searched for the truth in Draco's lips. "Then you'll be here forever," Harry whispered against his mouth and then they were devouring each other, kissing desperately, as though they had spent years apart instead of mere days. Harry felt like he had come home—that _Draco_ had come home—and he wanted to make damned sure Draco believed it, too. He sucked hard on Draco's lower lip and then released it to sink his teeth into Draco's shoulder; Draco hissed.

"Harry! What are you doing?"

"You're mine," Harry growled, happier than he could imagine at not being referred to as "Potter."

"Possessive much?" Draco asked and then gasped when Harry's hands tore at the shirt he wore.

"I want you to admit it," Harry said with determination. "I want you to admit that you're mine, only mine."

Draco raised his arms, allowing Harry to yank the shirt over his head. He tossed it haphazardly next to the bed. "What about you, Harry?"

Harry pounced on him and pinned him to the mattress before snogging him until neither of them could breathe. When they both panted for air, Harry said, "I'll always be only yours, Draco. Don't you know that?"

"Yes." Draco moaned when Harry's hand found a hard spot and cupped it with his palm. "Merlin, yes."

Harry rubbed with just the right amount of friction and Draco whimpered, pushing upward into Harry's touch. "I think something needs freeing," Harry suggested seductively.

"Yes. Yes, yes, yes."

Harry pulled his hand away. "Except…"

Draco growled and twisted a hand in Harry's hair to drag him in for a kiss. He bruised Harry's lips in a pleasant way and then hissed, "Yours, damn you. Completely, utterly yours."

Harry kissed him, intending to be greedy and possessive, but it changed quickly. He nibbled softly at Draco's panting lips, wondering if he would ever get enough of kissing Draco.

  
"Mine," he whispered against Draco's hot mouth. He forced himself to leave Draco's swollen lips and pressed soft kisses along his throat. "Mine, too." Draco's collarbone was also claimed before Harry moved lower. He licked one peaked nipple and worried it gently with his teeth, and then did the same to the other. "Mine," he murmured over each one.

Draco's breathing was ragged and his hands were tangled so firmly in Harry's hair he knew it would hurt to remove them. He declared ownership of Draco's lovely navel and then rubbed his cheek over Draco's erection, still trapped inside of the constricting trousers.

Harry used both hands and teeth to open the material and free his prize. "Definitely mine," he said and blew on it softly before placing a light, sucking kiss just beneath the head. Draco arched and cried out, obviously pushed to the edge of endurance. Harry knew how he felt—three days without had him on the brink himself.

"Yours," Draco said with a needy gasp. "I want to be yours, Harry."

With his heart pounding in his ears, Harry dragged the trousers away, leaving Draco exposed to his appreciative gaze. He only allowed himself a moment to drink in the sight. Draco's hands hovered in midair, having pulled free of Harry's locks during the manoeuvre. Harry quickly moved back into position, leaning over Draco and waiting for the fingers to slide back into his hair. He loved it when Draco touched his hair—even the painful pulling felt brilliant.

Draco's fingers were gentle, however. One palm pressed against Harry's jaw and his fingertips brushed over Harry's ear, barely touching his hair. The other curled around the back of Harry's neck, caressing lightly. His eyes were soft, but glowing with emotion. Harry swallowed hard and cast a wandless spell to prepare Draco, who made a guttural sound and arched his back. He suspected the sensation was always a bit of a surprise.

"Sorry," Harry murmured.

"Now," Draco ordered. "I'm ready _now_. Don't go slow."

Harry obediently pushed into Draco with no further preparation. There was little resistance and Draco only sighed breathily while his hands tightened on Harry's skin. Harry felt a moment of disorientation, slightly overwhelmed that Draco was so relaxed and ready for him. He tried to regain control, knowing he would only last a few strokes at this rate.

Draco pulled him down for another kiss and Harry thrust deeply, joying in the exquisite tingle that traveled all the way to his toes. Draco felt so amazingly good—Harry groped for and located Draco's stiff cock. It twitched in his hand and he began to move, pulling it in rhythm with each upstroke, gripping tightly and then loosening his hand to let it slide down to the base. The motion drew his attention from his own impending orgasm, but only until Draco's breath came in hitching gasps and he began to tighten around Harry's cock.

"Harry." Draco's fingers dug into his skin almost painfully. Harry barely noticed. One more deep thrust and Draco's cock shivered in his hand before expelling a wash of white heat, splashing their torso's and Harry's fingers. Harry drank in the sight of Draco's orgasm—fuck, it was always incredible. His own release rushed through him in a rolling wave, curling his toes and causing him to nearly bite his lip in half.

Harry thrust a few more times, milking every drop with Draco's heat clenched around him, wishing it would never end. He stopped moving and opened his eyes to find Draco watching him, looking as dazed as Harry felt. He let go of Draco's cock and slid his hand over the mess on Draco's abdomen, smearing it with a wicked grin.

"Look, I've made you all dirty," he said seductively. "Now I'll have to give you a bath."

"I'm not your pet any more, Harry," Draco said, but his hands moved over Harry's back, pulling him closer until Harry lay fully upon him.

"I know. But I'm hoping you'll agree to be my boyfriend, partner, lover… whatever you choose to call it. Mine. For everyone to see."

Draco frowned. "People won't like it."

"People don't matter and those that do will come round. Ron is already on my side and Hermione will accept it once she sees how happy I am."

"What? _Weasley?_ You told Weasley about us?"

Harry grinned and nodded. Draco groaned. "Well, I supposed those two would be the worst, next to my mother. And your public."

"It's not _my_ public and they have been surprisingly quiet lately. I don't suppose you had anything to do with that?"

Draco's hands moved lower and gave Harry's buttocks a squeeze. "I have no idea what you're talking about."

"Yes, well, I love you for it, anyway," Harry said and Draco's eyes flew to his. Harry smiled softly. "I do, you know. Love you, I mean. I have for a very long time, although it took you leaving for me to admit it." Draco opened his mouth and Harry quickly put two fingers over his lips. "Don't say anything; it's just silly Gryffindor sentiment and I don't mind that you don't love me back. You were brutally clear on that matter."

Draco winced. "Harry, I—" he mumbled around Harry's fingers.

"Shhh, it's all right. Just please don't leave until I have a chance to show you how much I care about you. Maybe you'll change your mind. All right?"

Draco released Harry's arse with one hand and forcibly removed the fingers blocking his lips. He scowled. "You are an idiot. How long do you propose that will take?"

Harry flushed, but plunged onward. "No more than a decade. Perhaps two."

The comment drew a surprised laugh from Draco. "Shut up and kiss me, Potter. We'll talk about this later. Much later."

Harry shut up and set about proving his words.

~~O~~

Harry looked through the grime-caked window and shifted his stance for the fifteenth time. The warehouse across the street remained as it had for the past six hours—seemingly deserted. It was, without a doubt, one of the most boring stakeouts of his life. Still, the Ministry had received a very plausible tip about a potential shipment of dragon hide arriving today. They were hoping to track the shipment back to the bastards callously killing dragons in the Swiss Alps. Even though wild dragon hide was globally banned, there was still a huge underground market for it.

Beside him, Ron yawned hugely and nibbled at the chocolate bar he had been nursing for the past twenty minutes. "The exciting life of an Auror," Ron muttered.

Harry grinned, but started when a tingling heat warmed his side. He fished in a pocket until he located the reason. Ron looked at him curiously when he pulled out the silver mirror.

"Checking your appearance? Honestly, mate, we don't care how you look. You only need to worry about that when you get home." Ron snickered at his own comment and took a bite of chocolate before returning his attention to the window and ignoring Harry, who moved a short distance away and concentrated on the mirror.

Draco's face appeared in the glass and a smile softened his features; he held up a pale finger and then the scene shifted dizzyingly. When it steadied, Harry suppressed a gasp with effort. Somehow, Draco must have fastened the mirror to the bedpost, allowing Harry a view of the bed upon which Draco now lay. He wore only a pair of Harry's patterned briefs. Harry coughed to cover a laugh. The pants were red with Gryffindor lions scattered over the surface. It nearly seemed a sacrilege on his Slytherin boyfriend.

Harry swallowed hard, amusement forgotten when Draco's hand trailed over his abdomen and then lightly stroked his cock through the material. It began to swell almost immediately. Harry's cock twitched in response and he drew in a shaking breath before shooting Ron a glance. The other two bored Aurors continued their card game in the corner near the window. Harry edged back another few steps and switched his attention back to the mirror.

Draco wriggled on the bed and then pushed the briefs down a bit to expose his hipbones. Harry nearly whimpered aloud. His trousers were now uncomfortably tight. Draco pouted prettily and put his hands up to his throat. His fingertips teased his collarbones before sliding downward to brush over the peaks of his nipples. Harry's throat went dry, remembering the feel and taste of those with crystal clarity.

A scraping sound startled him and his attention snapped back to the room where Savage had got to his feet to peer out the window, even though Ron hadn't moved from his listless pose.

"Thought I heard something," Savage said and they all waited tensely for a moment. Harry's eyes flicked between the window and the mirror, torn between duty and desire. _Merlin_ , Draco's hands were sliding over his abdomen and teasing at the waistband of his pants, pushing them down in agonizing increments. The fabric was tightly stretched, outlining his erection in red and gold.

Harry decided he was going to throttle Draco when he got home. It was unforgiveable for him to torment Harry this way when he knew how important the bloody stakeout was. Harry knew he should just put the mirror away and get back to work, but he would sooner have tucked his own lungs into the pouch rather than the mirror. His life was certainly no longer boring. It had been rough for a while, especially right after Harry had appeared in public for the first time with Draco on his arm. He had expected a media furore, but the Daily Prophet had been astonishingly silent. Several supportive articles had followed and Harry had even granted an interview to Beatrice Smirch. Draco had joined him and the woman had cast many fearful glances towards Draco, but Draco had only smiled and calmly answered all questions put before him.

Even after several witches and wizards had come forth with stories from Draco's rentboy days, the press had remained firmly in Harry's corner and had countered the tales with articles questioning the morality of the finger-pointers. Draco had laughed uproariously for days. Harry privately wondered if Draco had Memory Charmed the entire staff of the Daily Prophet, but he didn't quite dare to ask him. Besides, he could not complain about the outcome.

Hermione had been another obstacle that had never quite materialized, thanks to Ron's steadfast support. Ron could barely stand to be in the same room with Draco, but he had announced—to Hermione, no less—that "if Harry wanted to shack up with an Inferius troll, then it was none of their bloody business." Hermione had been shocked, but her features had quickly softened and she had thrown her arms around Ron and kissed him soundly before politely inviting Draco over to their house for the next Friday dinner. Wisely, Draco had yet to accept.

The Carversham trial had come and gone. Peasegood's assistant had recognized Draco immediately from the Pensieve memories, but none of the other Ministry employees had seemed able to connect Harry's love interest with the mysterious rentboy they had sought so diligently. The clever assistant had, however, nearly blackmailed Harry until Draco had agreed to teach her his Memory Modification Charm. Harry thought the girl was well on her way to becoming the next Minister for Magic.

Draco's design business was booming, thanks to Matilda Hopkirk and her circle of cronies. Harry thought the old girls simply liked having the gorgeous blond around, and therefore kept making up jobs to keep him busy. Harry could hardly fault them; he rather liked having Draco around himself.

The mirror drew Harry's full attention once more. Draco had reached for something out of Harry's line of sight and Harry was almost afraid to see what it was. He nearly sighed with relief when a small jar was revealed in Draco's palm. Draco unscrewed the lid and dipped a finger into what looked to be red paint. He held up a single red-tipped digit and grinned.

Draco took the red paint and drew a circle around his navel. Harry watched, perplexed, and wondering if there was some sort of magic involved. Draco dipped the finger once more and drew a straight line down the middle of his sternum before adding top and bottom cross lines. Was it Runic? It resembled the letter **_I_**.

Draco held up his finger imperiously as though bidding Harry to wait.

"The door is opening!" Ron said and banged his head on the glass. Harry glanced up to see Ron rubbing his forehead.

Harry swore inwardly. _Not now,_ he begged silently and switched his attention back to Draco, who had one arm across his abdomen, covering more sigils while he drew another close to his red and gold undergarments. Harry's brow wrinkled.

"This is it!" Savage crowed. "Let's go!"

Savage pelted from the room, followed by the rookie Auror. Ron raced after them and Harry heard him pause by the door.

"Harry?" Ron asked in puzzlement, but Harry could not move. His eyes were fixed to the mirror as Draco finished drawing and raised both arms to reveal his handiwork. A broad smile lit Draco's features.

"I have to go, Ron," Harry choked.

"What? _Now?_ "

"Now."

**_I love you_** had been written across Draco's torso in gleaming red paint.

"Well… all right, we can handle this. I'll cover for you. Somehow." Ron's voice was uncertain.

"Thanks, Ron. I owe you one," Harry promised. Frankly, his job could go join Voldemort in the grave—Harry was going home to shag his former rentboy into the mattress and make him prove every letter of those words.

_Best 500,000 Galleons I never spent_ , he thought and Disapparated.

~~~

Author's Note: Sorry it took so long to update this chapter on here! One scene was driving me crazy and I had to fix it. Hopefully this version is a tad better than the original. I think I'm finally pleased with it. WOOT! :D


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